


Funny How Love Is

by papermoon2719



Series: It's a Hard Life | The Life and Love of Freddie & Daisy Mercury [2]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) Actor RPF, Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Coping with Death, Cunnilingus, Dry Humping, F/F, F/M, Fanfiction, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Light Dom/sub, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Minor Character Death, Multi, Non-Penetrative Sex, Oral Sex, Queen Fanfiction, Smut, Terminal Illnesses, Vaginal Sex, historical fiction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2019-10-01 09:26:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 50,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17241728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papermoon2719/pseuds/papermoon2719
Summary: Daisy Harrison. A name no one would have known if not for a single invitation to a rock concert in March of 1974. This is her story, which is also his story - the story of how life is made up of moments, and just one can change the course of history. *See previous work in series for fictional cast profiles*





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I feel I have to post some pretty massive disclaimers here:
> 
> 1\. This story will not be everyone's cup of tea. 
> 
> 2.Not everything is factual (though I did my best to be as accurate as possible) and it makes some pretty big changes that some of you may not agree with. 
> 
> 3\. This was written under the assumption that Freddie Mercury was bisexual, which is a widely disputed matter of opinion among those who weren't close to him. As Freddie hated labels, however, I have tried to keep them to a minimum in this story. 
> 
> 4\. Much of the intimate details of this story are based on conjecture. I was not present for any of the events portrayed in the story, and therefore have no way of forming a full opinion on events/people/incidents in the life of Freddie Mercury. 
> 
> 5\. Personally, I am more a supporter of Jim Hutton than Mary Austin. This is reflected heavily in this series. For all of the Mary fans, you've been warned. Please don't come at me when the time comes for her to be included in the series.
> 
> 6\. At the end of the day, this is fiction. Some things have been purposefully altered for the sake of the story. I've done my best to do as much research as possible, but some of it may be inaccurate. 
> 
> Additionally, new chapters will be posted every Tuesday at noon EST (subject to change, of course).

****

**November 2016**

Early on this Thursday morning, Kensington is cold and overcast. It’s humid, putting a sharp chill in the air. Daisy Harrison-Mercury has just woken up and is still lying in bed. An old, fat Maine Coon lies at her side, purring loudly and kneading the comforter. She gently pats its paws, scolding it.

“This comforter is older than you are, Marley. Be kind to it,” she says. Her voice is tired but strong. She slowly sits, her back aching a bit but no worse for wear. She’s doing pretty good for a 63-year-old cancer survivor. She stretches before standing, slipping her feet into a pair of slippers. Crossing the bedroom, she can’t help but look out the window over the garden. It’s as well-manicured as it’s ever been, but there’s no Irishman pruning the bushes or pulling weeds. Instead, the Irishman’s photo is perched on the accent chest that’s pushed up against the same wall. She smiles sadly at it, a pang of melancholy sharp in her chest.

“Morning, Jimmy,” she murmurs, blowing the photo a kiss before turning and heading into the bathroom. Her morning routine only takes a few minutes, and when she’s done, she wraps herself in a plush robe and heads out of the bedroom. She descends the stairs slowly, her knees protesting. When she makes it down to the ground floor she immediately goes to the kitchen.

“It’s about time you got up, you lazy old bird.”

“Oh, shut up,” she quips to the man sitting at the small table, a tablet propped open in front of him and a plate of eggs next to it. He sips at the cup of tea in his hand and watches her walk over to him. He hums as she presses a kiss to the top of his head.

“How did you sleep, darling?”

“I slept well, my love, because I slept next to the love of my life,” he answers. She smiles down at him, cupping his cheek. “But I’m not sure that Marley slept equally as well, seeing as this old woman kept thrashing around like a lunatic.”

Daisy glares at him playfully, tapping his cheek.

“Freddie Mercury, ever the comedian,” she sighs, rolling her eyes. Linda, their housekeeper, brings over a cup and saucer and pours Daisy a cup of tea as she sits in her seat across from Freddie. She sips it as Freddie pulls his glasses off and sets them on the table.

“It would seem they’ve finally made a casting decision for this bloody biopic,” he suddenly says. Daisy swallows, raising her eyebrows.

“What young fools will be playing us?” she asks, thanking Linda when she sets down a plate of breakfast in front of her. Freddie turns the tablet, revealing two windows open. Daisy picks up Freddie’s glasses, setting them on the bridge of her nose as she looks at the tablet.

“Isn’t this the actor from that show with Chris Slater?” she asks, pointing at the picture on the left. “He’s handsome.” She looks a little harder at the young woman on the screen, her eyes narrowing.

“I think so, yes. And that young woman is your spitting image,” he replies, looking back at the tablet. Daisy props the glasses up onto her head and picks up her fork.

“Yes, she is. And she has no idea how much trouble that’s going to get her into.” 

* * *

 “Stupid goddamn bloody technology,” Roger mutters darkly, pressing keys angrily. Daisy rolls her eyes, crossing the room to lean over his shoulder.

“Roger, you're going to break the computer,” she warns, setting a hand on his shoulder. He turns around and glares at her, his blue eyes furious.

“I can't get this kid’s bloody sound test to open and we have to watch it before he gets here,” Roger groans, pressing a few more keys out of annoyance. Freddie walks into the dining room, sinking into a chair and reaching for the computer. Roger raises an eyebrow at him.

“What are you doing, old lady?” he bites, but Freddie just flips him off and takes the computer from him. After a few seconds of clicking and pressing keys, the opening chords of _Keep Yourself Alive_ come floating from the speakers. Roger mutters “fucker” under his breath and Daisy smiles proudly.

“After all this time, still so good with your hands,” she says, drawing a gag from Roger. Freddie smirks at him, reaching over to pat Daisy's bum.

“Careful what you say around this old man, Daisy. Roger might have a heart attack.”

Roger flips him off just as the doorbell sounds.

“Well, I guess we're watching this with the kids,” Daisy says, smiling over at Freddie. He pushes himself up, groaning a little. Daisy's eyebrows knit but Freddie just waves her off.

“My back's just a little sore,” he reassures, reaching over to wrap an arm around her waist. She mimics him, her hand coming around to rest on his hip. “Guess you went too hard on me the other night.” He wiggles his eyebrows and Roger glares at him.

“Will you please not talk about your sexual exploits in front of the children tonight?” he warns. Daisy laughs out loud.

“Roger, they're playing us. Half of this godforsaken movie will be sexual exploits if it's done right,” she shoots back. Freddie giggles, and even Roger laughs along.

“Very true,” he surrenders, and the trio walks out into the foyer.

“Well, shit,” Freddie murmurs. Daisy knows exactly how he feels as soon as she catches sight of their doubles. The four just stare at each other for a moment before Daisy speaks.

“Well, that's just not accurate,” she says, looking at the young actress set to be playing her. Callie Hernandez. She really is Daisy's spitting image, and right now she looks terrified. So does Rami. “They are so much more attractive than we ever were.”

Both seem to deflate, laughing. Daisy pulls away from Freddie and walks over to Callie, holding out her hand.

“It's such an honor to meet you, Mrs Mercury,” she begins, but Daisy shakes her head.

“Call me Daisy,” she instructs. Callie nods, and Daisy laughs, pulling her closer.

“Don't be nervous, darling,” she reassures, smiling warmly at Callie. Callie visibly relaxes a bit.

“Sorry,” she apologizes. “It's just… I'm a really big fan of yours. And your husband's, of course.”

Daisy smiles at her, squeezing her hand.

“Thank you, darling. But don't forget, at the end of the day, we're just two old farts.”

Callie giggles and Daisy thinks the casting team is brilliant.

“Come, let me introduce you to the old queen,” Daisy says. She gently guides Callie over to Freddie, who's talking with Rami. Daisy smiles at the latter.

“So, you're my second husband,” she teases, and Rami grins.

“I guess so,” he replies. “I just hope I can live up to the title.”

Daisy scoffs.

“Darling, just act like everything is the end of the world and that everyone could be a good shag and you’ll be fine,” she says. Freddie agrees with an ‘exactly’ and everyone laughs.

* * *

 Later that night, once everything is quiet at Garden Lodge, Daisy finds herself lying awake and staring at the ceiling.

“What’s the matter, lovely?”

Freddie’s voice is soft, and Daisy’s still mildly surprised that he can still read her though it’s pitch black and silent. Daisy turns onto her side, facing him, and rests a hand on his chest.

“It’s just-” she begins, knowing exactly how she feels, but not knowing exactly how to say it. Freddie wraps his hand around hers, lifting her hand to his mouth to press a kiss to it and she decides she’ll try.

“I guess this movie is making me feel old,” she answers, scooting a little closer to Freddie. At 70, his chest isn’t quite as plush as it used to be, but she turns her head to press a kiss to it anyways.

“We _are_ old,” he replies, and Daisy sighs.

“I know. I guess I don’t like to be reminded of it.”

Freddie’s silent at that, but Daisy can feel him tense up. She knows the question that’s coming and yet hears Freddie ask it all the same.

“Do you regret any of it?”

Hearing the words spoken out loud sparks a sharp pull in Daisy’s chest. She maneuvers herself so that she can prop herself up on one elbow, looking down at her husband.

“Not one single moment, Freddie,” she says wholeheartedly. “Do you?”

Freddie pauses for a moment and Daisy knows exactly what he’s thinking of: that day in November of ‘81. Daisy hopes he doesn’t say it out loud.

“Only letting you keep that ugly pair of bell bottoms as long as I did,” he finally says, and Daisy laughs, relieved.

“I still haven’t forgiven you for that,” she replies. She lies back down, wrapping her arm around Freddie’s waist again.

“I love you, Daisy.”

The words are soft, and Daisy’s heard them a million times over the past forty-two years, but this time they feel different. Daisy feels her throat tighten and has to swallow back a lump before she can speak.

“I love you, too, Freddie.”

* * *

 Daisy stands over the desk in her home office and takes a mental inventory:

Journal?

Check.

Favorite fountain pen?

Check.

Old diaries for reference?

Check.

Cup of tea?

Check.

Freddie out of the house for most of the day?

Double check.

This had actually been his idea, so perhaps she shouldn’t be too hard on him. He is a bit of a pest, though, especially when he gets bored. She sighs, sinking down into her desk chair and opening the new journal to the first page. She picks up the pen, unscrewing the cap and pausing, trying to think of the right words.

“Oh, fuck it,” she mutters. The moment the pen touches the paper, they come freely. Just as they always have, when the moment was right. She writes just a few lines on this front page, then stops to read over it.

_Callie,_

_I’ve decided to give you a glimpse into my life as Mrs Freddie Mercury, beyond what you’ll find in any book or tabloid archive. This journal is my gift to you (well, it was Freddie’s idea, but if I give him all the credit his head will get too big to fit through the door). Either way, this is our story. It’s from my perspective, of course, and there are a few things I’m not going to include. But everything in this journal is going to be truth. I know how Hollywood works, and I know that the movie is not going to be entirely accurate, but I want you to have all the tools to give the best performance you can. I also want you to know that I don’t regret any of it, not even the things you might think were negative. My life has been a full, beautiful one. Even one small decision made differently could have changed everything. Just remember that, that things happen as they do for a reason._

_All the best, my darling girl,_

_Daisy Mercury_

 


	2. Chapter 2

****

**12 March 1974 | London, England | Dagenham Roundhouse**

“Bri, you really don't have to do this,” I whisper, looking around nervously as I'm pulled through the sea of bar patrons and fans. “I'm fine just staying in your flat by myself like every other adult.” The man holding my hand just huffs, continuing our trek.

“Don't even try, Dais. It won't work,” Brian replies. “I promised your father that I would take care of you while you were here studying and that's what I'm doing.”

I roll my eyes, tugging on his hand in an attempt to break away but I fail. We stop in front of a door and he knocks.

“Pretty sure that dad wouldn't see travelling across England with a rock band as ‘taking care’ of me,” I quip as the door opens. A mop of blonde hair greets us, and a smile adorns his face as he looks me up and down. Maybe the micro-mini-and-fishnets wasn't the best outfit.

“Well, hello there,” blondie croons, leaning against the door jamb.

“Don't even think about it, Roger. She’s my godsister..”

I hold back a snort at the panic that flashes on Roger's face before he lets us in. I do my best to keep a straight face as I glance around at the rest of the band. John’s sitting on a couch against the right hand wall, and Freddie sits in a chair across from him. There's a row of lighted mirrors that he's facing, his eyes turning to my reflection briefly. He's still in his outfit from the show, the sequins glinting in the light of the bulbs.

“Daisy, this is the band. Band, this is Daisy. She's going to be on tour with us for the next couple weeks or so while she's on break from Uni,” Brian explains, coming in behind me and closing the door. “If I catch any of you in bed with her, I'll kill you.”

John laughs, Roger looks sheepish, and Freddie… When I glance at Freddie he seems to have forgotten our existence.

“Well, we're glad you could join us,” John says after a beat, standing. He holds his hand out, offering me his seat. I take it with a smile, dropping down onto the plush cushion.

“So, what are you studying at Uni?” John asks, settling on the coffee table in front of me. He picks up his beer, taking a large gulp.

“English literature,” I answer. Roger scoots a little closer and I glance over at him. He smiles uncomfortably and picks up his own beer. He raises it to his mouth, turning his eyes away from me.

“Is the semester over already?” John asks, eyebrows furrowed. I exchange a look with Brian, swallowing.

“No, I decided to take a break this semester,” I say softly, crossing my arms over my chest. “My dad passed away in January.”

The silence that follows is an uncomfortable one, and I kick myself for saying anything. Awkward glances are exchanged, and I crack a smile, trying to diffuse the tension.

“The show was amazing,” I offer, and the guys smile at me.

“Ta,” Roger says, raising his beer to me. A look of realization crosses his face and he suddenly stands. “We must seem like absolute animals, not even offering you a drink. Would you like one?”

I giggle at his outburst, nodding. “Yeah, I’ll take a beer,” I say. I glance back at Freddie, who I’ve noticed has been watching me out of the corner of his eye. I offer him a small smile.

“You were phenomenal,” I offer, leaning forward on my knees. He doesn’t say anything, just smiles a little and nods before standing and walking out.

“Don’t take it personally,” Brian says, probably noticing the disappointment on my face. “As open as he is on stage, it takes him a while to warm up to people. He’ll come round.”

I nod, biting my lip and trying not to look too forlorn. I’m distracted when Roger comes back in, my beer in hand. He drops down onto the couch next to me again, handing it to me.

“So,” he begins, looking me in the eye. “You single?”

I’m fairly certain the smack Brian gave to his head and resulting yelp could be heard down the street.

**15 March 1974 | Somewhere Outside Blackpool**

“Shit,” Freddie mutters, and I hear a small clatter. It's been three days since I joined the tour and he has yet to say anything to me. Brian filled me in on my first full day: Freddie's girlfriend, Mary, had broken up with him right as they were getting ready to start recording their second album. It hit him pretty hard and he threw himself into his work, putting all of his effort into his performances. It was running him ragged.

At the moment he's digging around in a small bag, the bus jostling him on the bench seat he's perched on. He growls to himself and dumps the entire contents of the bag on the seat next to him. I see that it's his stage makeup as he tosses around compacts and eyeliner pencils.

“Goddamnit, has anyone seen my black eyeliner?” he shouts, looking around the bus. There's a chorus of negatives from everyone and Freddie glowers. He begins shoving the makeup back in his bag, his eyebrows furrowed in anger.

“Here,” I suddenly say, setting down the book in my hand and uncurling from my seat. I grab my bag and pull out my own makeup pouch before standing and walking over to Freddie. I drop down on the seat and hand him the bag. “I have some. And you can use whatever else you want.”

He looks at me suspiciously, eyeing the pouch. I smile a little, holding it closer.

“It won't bite,” I say softly. Freddie finally takes it, opening it up and glancing inside. His slim fingers dip into it for a moment, drawing my kohl pencil from inside. He hands it back to me, muttering a quick “thank you”. Deciding to be bold, I reach into the bag and pull something else from it. I hold it out to Freddie and he looks at it skeptically.

“Brown eyes have a little bit of gold in them,” I explain, pulling my mirror from inside the bag and zipping it up. I unscrew the cap from the gold liquid liner in my hand, carefully swiping a line over each of my eyelids. I look back up at Freddie and lean a little closer. “Gold liner brings it out.”

Freddie nods, but I don't hand him the liner. Feeling brave, I drop the mirror on the seat next to me and hold up the eyeliner a little.

“May I?”

Freddie stares at me for a moment before nodding slowly and closing his eyes. My confidence falters as I lean in and I have to try hard to keep my hand from shaking as I rest the edge of my palm against his cheek to keep my fingers steady. I draw a careful line from the inner corner of his eye to the outer, giving him a flick at the end in a kitten eye. The other side is more difficult, my hand resting near the bridge of his nose as I draw as close to an identical line on the other eye as I can before pulling away.

“There,” I say, closing the eyeliner and picking up the mirror. I open it and hold it up for him, watching as he evaluates my work. I nervously wait for his reaction, butterflies turning my stomach. He finally leans back and looks up at me.

“I like it. Thank you,” he says softly, giving me the first real smile I’ve seen on his face in the three days I’ve been here. I smile back, offering my bag one more time.

“Anything else you want to try? Purple and green also look pretty kickass on brown eyes,” I offer, grabbing two more pencils from the bag and holding them up. Freddie eyes them and then looks at me.

“Tell you what,” he says, licking his lips. “Why don’t you come see my outfit before the show tonight and tell me which you think looks best?”

I stare back at him for a moment, trying not to look too happy at finally breaking through the wall.

“I’d like that,” I reply softly, tucking the eyeliners back into my bag. He nods once, leaning back in his seat.

“I’ll make sure they know to let you in,” he says. “And I’ll let you get back to your reading.”

I give him one last smile, trying to tamp the beating of my heart, and stand. I catch Brian’s eye as I head back to my seat, and he shoots me a wink.

Cheeky bastard. 

**15 March 1974 | Glasgow, Scotland | Queen Margaret Union, University of Glasgow**  

I can’t help the smile on my face when I walk into the band’s shared dressing room the next night. Brian and John are back in the corner with their instruments, Roger’s on the couch drumming out a nervous beat on the cushion next to him, and Freddie is seated at a similar long row of mirrors to the ones I’d seen him at back in London.

“Daisy! Why aren’t you out with everyone else?” Brian asks when he sees me. I shoot him a grin, ready to answer back when Freddie does it for me.

“She’s helping me with my makeup tonight,” he says, glancing at me in the mirror. I give him a little grin, giggling at the wink Brian gives me when I look back over at him. Freddie continues to watch me in the mirror as I walk over and set my bag down on the counter.

“I like your dress,” he says softly. I glance down at it, smoothing my hands down the front. It’s black, the bodice covered in sequins, with sheer black peasant sleeves ending in equally-sequined cuffs. I’d paired it with fishnets and a pair of black boots, which Freddie glances at. “Stockings are a bit risky.”

It’s a comment most women would find offensive, but I just grin at him.

“I thought to myself, ‘What would Freddie wear?’ and high-class call girl came to mind,” I quip. He lets out a little giggle and glances at the bag.

“So, what will it be tonight?” he asks, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. He’s wearing the angel outfit tonight, the white accentuating his dark features. I bite my lip and nod once, knowing what I’m going to do. I open the makeup bag, taking out a neutral eye shadow palette, my green pencil liner, and the gold liner.

“Close your eyes,” I instruct, picking up the palette and popping it open. I choose to use my fingers instead of a brush, tapping the pad of my ring finger into a shade a few darker than Freddie’s skin tone. He flinches a bit when my finger touches his eyelid and I pull back, worried I pressed to hard.

“Sorry,” he says softly, smiling sheepishly. I smile back even though he can’t see it and gently resume what I was doing.

“That’s okay,” I answer. I continue his eye makeup, gaining confidence. By the time I get to his eyeliner, I feel like I might really be enjoying this.

“Open your eyes,” I say once I’ve finished the top line, leaning back a bit to check my work. Freddie’s eyes open slowly and settle on me for a moment before he turns to the mirror.

“It’s not done,” I say, watching him lean in and look closer at the beginnings of the dramatic cat eye I’m giving him.

“The green really looks splendid,” he muses, turning his head from side to side before looking back to me. I reach for the green again, holding it carefully.

“I’ve never done anyone else’s eyeliner,” I confess, my nerves coming back. “But I promise I will do my best not to poke your eye out.”

Freddie laughs a little, reaching out and grabbing my free hand. “I have the utmost faith that you will not poke my eye out, darling,” he reassures, squeezing my hand before letting it go again. I smile softly at him, bending down a little to be able to get closer, and slowly begin tracing just below his waterline. I finish the first eye and lean back again, looking at my work. He grins up at me.

“See? No casualties.”

I smile back at him and suddenly feel the butterflies return, but this time they’re softer. I swallow, glancing at Brian. He’s busy fooling around with Roger and doesn’t see me, but I’m not sure I actually wanted him to in the first place. I look back at Freddie, who’s still grinning up at me, and mentally kick myself.

_You cannot fall for one of Brian’s bandmates,_ I mentally scold myself. But when Freddie reaches out and squeezes my hand, I feel myself soften a bit.

_Well,_ I think, _there’s no trouble in being friendly._  

**17 March 1974 | Leeds**  

“Well, this is nice, right Dais?”

I squint up at Brian before shrugging. The motel is small, completely rented out by the bands.

“Anyplace that has a bed is nice,” Roger whines, coming off of the bus behind me. He stretches his arms over his head, then rests one around my shoulders on the way down. “You’re welcome to share mine, love.”

I roll my eyes, already used to Roger’s flirting after less than a week. It’s harmless, mostly. And I think he does it to annoy Brian more than anything else. The godbrother in question shoots him a look, but I lean into Roger’s side and grin up at him sweetly.

“Thanks for the offer, Rog, but you’re not really my type,” I reply, patting his cheek softly. “I’m not really into blondes.”

He feigns offense and scoffs.

“Well, then, what kind of man are you into?”

I purse my lips, shrugging.

“Probably one that doesn’t nod off after a shag,” Freddie says, grinning when Roger flips him off.

“You really don’t think that of me, do you?”

I look at Roger and pat his cheek.

“I just prefer a man who can make it two rounds and still keep up an intelligent conversation, dear,” I answer. Everyone within earshot laughs as I smirk and slip out from under Roger’s arm. I catch Freddie’s eye and notice his cheeks look a bit pink. I credit it to the harsh wind ripping by. I smile softly at him and he returns it just as John comes over and hands me a key.

“You’ll have to share with Brian and I,” he says, sounding apologetic. “We reserved the rooms before we knew you’d be here.”

I smile at him, shaking my head.

“That’s fine, love,” I reply, taking the key. He reaches over and pulls my bag from my shoulder, moving it onto his and turning to walk away. I turn back to Freddie, but find he’s already headed towards the rooms with Roger, his hair whipping in the wind.

“Coming, Dais?” Brian calls, looking over to me. I nod, heading over towards him and tucking myself into his side when he throws an arm over my shoulders.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says softly, and I look up at him to see he’s grinning down at me. I feel a surge of affection for him and squeeze his waist.

“Me too, Bri. Me too.” 

**18 March 1974**  

It’s well past midnight when I sneak out of my hotel room, pack of cigarettes in hand. Brian doesn’t know I smoke, so I head out to the garden. It’s empty, the plants sparse and the lights surrounding it doing little to illuminate the space. It’s only when I see the orange glow of a cigarette that I realize someone’s beat me to the spot. As I get closer I recognize Freddie. He glances over as I approach and quickly turns away, wiping at his face. Concerned, I step a bit closer.

“You okay?” I ask, knowing the answer. When Freddie nods I know he’s lying. He takes a shaky drag of his cigarette as I come closer, gesturing to the chair next to him. “May I?”

His dark eyes flick to the chair in question and for a moment I think he’s going to say no, but he eventually nods. I drop down onto it, tugging my jacket tighter around myself before pulling my own cigarette from my pack and placing it between my lips. I can feel Freddie’s eyes on me as I light it, but I don’t meet his eyes. I take a deep drag and look at my feet.

“I broke up with someone few months ago. It fucking sucks,” I say suddenly, almost without thinking. I can see Freddie stiffen a bit, his eyes still on me.

“Did he-”

“She.”

We make eye contact, and I can’t quite read his face. Some of it, like the shock, is expected. But there’s something else… something like relief. Then, momentary confusion.

“But you said, to Roger- ” he begins, and I smile at him.

“I’m allowed to like both, Fred.” I can tell by the look in his eyes that he knows I’m not just talking about myself. He finally looks away and we each spend a minute in silence, nothing but the gentle crackling of our cigarettes as we take drags followed by slow exhales. Finally, I hear Freddie take in a breath.

“How do you do it?” he asks. My brown eyes meet his, and I can feel a lump growing in my throat. I shrug, then shake my head.

“I guess I’m just really good at fooling everyone,” I answer. I lean forward on my knees, looking out over the pool. “I mean, it hurts like hell and I miss her, but… at the end of the day, we just weren’t meant to be. She never really understood how I could be bisexual. I guess she was paranoid that I would end up in bed with some guy, try to replace her with a cock, but…” I let my words trail off, shrugging, and take a last drag of my cigarette before putting it out. I pull out another and light it.

“Mary didn’t understand, either,” Freddie says quietly. I glance over at him, furrowing my brows. This is the first time he’s mentioned her to me. I don’t want to make him shut down, so I remain silent. He takes a deep breath before continuing. “When I told her, she said that I’m not bisexual, that I’m gay. I think it's the clothes. Or the way I act. I don't know.”

Freddie frowns, putting out his own cigarette and reaching for his pack. He lights one and glares out over the garden.

“Is that why you broke up?” I ask softly. Freddie sniffles, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. He nods minutely, taking another drag of his cigarette. His fingers shake, the end of his cigarette bouncing slightly. I'm trying to think of something comforting to say when he suddenly bows his head, a soft sob escaping his chest.

“Oh, Freddie,” I whisper, putting out my cigarette and moving to my knees in front of him. I pull his cigarette from his hand and put it out before reaching up and wrapping my arms around his shoulders. He wraps his around my waist and buries his face in my throat. I can feel his tears, hot and wet, soaking into the jumper I'm wearing.

“It's okay, love,” I murmur, rubbing his back. We stay like that for several minutes, until Freddie's sobs become hiccups. He leans back, wiping at his face, and glances down at my knees.

“Get up here, darling, your knees must be screaming,” he murmurs, tugging at my elbows and scooting over enough that I can perch next to him. As soon as I settle my weight on it, though, the entire chair pitches forward and we scramble to stand. It slams back down on the cement, the crack echoing across the garden. We glance at each other, immediately breaking into hysterical giggles.

We're leaning on each other for support when I hear footsteps. Brian comes stumbling out, his hair even more wild than normal.

“What the hell was that?” Brian asks, glancing around with wide eyes. He's in nothing but his shirt and boxers and, for whatever reason, that sets me off into another set of giggles. I lean against Freddie, who's trying to explain what happened to Brian. My vision is swimming with the tears in my eyes but I'm able to make out the raised eyebrow Brian is giving us.

“Alright,” he says slowly, tucking his arms into his chest. He gives us one last skeptical look before waving us off and turning to leave. I can hear him muttering the whole way.

As our giggles die down, I slowly come to realize just how close Freddie and I are. Our slight height difference is obvious from this close, and I can't help but be sobered as I look up into Freddie's eyes. They're red and slightly puffy from crying, betraying his emotions.

“Thank you.”

I feel his hand twitch where it is at my waist and I lick my lips. His eyes follow the movement before turning back up to mine.

“‘S nothing,” I whisper back, shrugging a little. I can feel a strand of hair come loose from my ponytail and it tickles my cheek. Before I can reach up and shove it back into place, Freddie brushes it gently behind my ear.

“Well, it was nice to be able to talk to someone about it,” he says, squeezing my waist lightly before pulling away. He turns, grabbing his pack of cigarettes, then mine. His fingers brush mine when he hands it to me.

“We should head back,” he suggests. I nod, wrapping my jacket tightly around myself as a gust of cold wind blows through the garden. Freddie steps close as we begin the walk back to the rooms. Our shoulders bump gently as we walk, but I’m glad for the little bit of body heat. We’re nearly at the building when Roger’s voice comes floating over.

“Where the hell have you two been? You’re missing all the fun!” he calls from the doorway to his room. I can see movement behind him; apparently everyone but Brian, Freddie, and I had piled into the room. He holds up a bottle of wine and waves it a little.

“Drunk Scrabble!” he says as if it explains everything before turning and heading back into the room. I look over at Freddie with a raised eyebrow and he just shrugs.

“You’ll get used to it,” he says. I turn up a corner of my mouth and shake my head.

“I don’t know that I want to,” I answer facetiously. Freddie grins as we make it to the doorway, then he looks at me.

“You don’t have to come in if you don’t want to,” he says. I don’t think he means it, though, from the way he’s looking at me out of the corner of his eye. So I smile brightly and take a step into the room.

“Don’t be silly, Freddie. Now, let me show you how drunk Scrabble is _really_ played.”

* * *

 “What the actual fuck?”

I smile proudly at Roger, who’s sitting on the opposite side of the Scrabble board from me on the floor. We’re both cross-legged, cups of wine at our knees. He looks at the word I’ve just laid down, then back up at me.

“Bull-fucking-shit, that’s not a word,” he snaps, huffing at me. I gasp, clutching my chest.

“Roger Taylor, are you accusing me of cheating?”

Roger nods once, stiffly, and I gasp again.

“A quetzal is the national bird of Guatemala and, I’m sure, is also extremely offended that you don’t think it’s real.”

I look to Freddie, who’s sitting on the bed behind me, and he shrugs.

“I’ve never heard of one. Sorry, love,” he offers apologetically.

“Someone go get Bri, he’ll know,” a member of the other band who’s name I’ve forgotten suggests. “He’s the smartest twat here.”

Everyone watches as Roger stands and stomps out of the room, banging loudly on the room nextdoor. There’s a bit of complaining, and then Roger marches a very sleepy looking Brian into the room.

“Will you please tell your dear godsister that a qweetzail is not a fucking real thing and that cheating at Scrabble is an offense punishable by death?” he demands, pointing at me accusingly. Brian blinks at me, and then turns to Roger.

“Roger, what the hell is-”

“God, Bri, will you please just settle this so he’ll _shut up_ ,” Freddie groans, flopping over dramatically. I turn to look at him, our eyes now level, and he winks at me.

“Fine, A _quetzal_ is the national bird of Guatemala and, judging by the triple word boxes and double letter on the z, Daisy just got 374 points for knowing that,” Brian snaps, glaring down at a shocked looking Roger. Everyone turns to look at me and I shrug.

“Can I please go back to bed now?”

Roger waves Brian off, who gives me a look before turning and leaving the room. He slams the door behind him and I turn my attention to Roger. He looks a bit like a stunned fish, his bright blue eyes wide and mouth opening and closing.

“Well, that just - I -” He lets out one last incoherent word and then just stares at me.

“Roger, you should know better than to challenge a literature major to a game of Scrabble,” Freddie says, propping himself up on his elbow. Roger glares at Freddie, his eyes narrowing.

“Oh, shut up, Fred,” he snaps. He turns, walking over to the empty bed that I’m presuming is his and tugging back the covers. He crawls under them, pulling them all the way up over his head. Everyone stares at him for a moment before going back to their conversations. I lean forward to start clearing the board, glancing over at Freddie when he climbs off of the bed to start helping me. We work in silence, him finally folding up the board and setting it in the box. I slip the lid on softly and look up at him. He opens his mouth to say something, but Deacy yawns loudly and steps between us.

“It’s almost three, I’m headed to bed. I’ll walk you, Dais, if you want?” he offers, pausing to look down at us. I glance back at Freddie, who’s wearing a soft grin, and then nod.

“That would be nice, Deacy, thanks,” I answer. Freddie stands, offering me his hands once he’s on his feet. I take them, letting him pull me up. There’s a rush to my head from the quick movement (and probably the wine), and I sway a bit. His hands go to my waist and squeeze gently.

“Whoa, there. No falling over,” he warns, waiting for me to get my bearings. I smile up at him.

“Thanks, Fred,” I say, then do something completely without thinking: press up onto my toes and kiss his cheek. It’s a bit prickly and in need of a shave, but he smells good, like cigarettes and cologne. I drop back down onto my heels and stare up at him, realizing what I’ve done. He seems to be just as surprised as I am by it, but he quickly recovers.

“Thank _you_ ,” he murmurs, squeezing my waist once again before dropping his hands to his sides. “Goodnight.”

I smile softly at him and murmur a soft “‘Night, Fred,” before turning to join Deacy at the door. I glance at the Roger-shaped lump in the second bed and hold up a finger to Deacy. He grins at me as I sit on the bed at Roger’s bum.

“Roggie,” I say softly, pulling the top of the quilt back enough to see his blonde hair. I poke a finger in, tickling at his ear. “I’m sorry, Roger. Don’t go to bed cross with me.”

I lean down and peek under the covers and he turns his head, still glaring at me.

“What can I do to make it up to you?” I ask, poking out my bottom lip. Roger considers my offer for a moment before his eyes light up.

“Kiss me,” he says, and I roll my eyes.

“Really?” I ask, poking up an eyebrow. “One kiss and you’ll forgive me?”

Roger nods, turning towards me and pursing his lips.

“You’re such a trollop, Taylor,” I say, but lean in and press a soft kiss to his lips. It’s quick and tastes of wine, but Roger smiles brightly at me.

“I can’t wait to tell Brian you kissed me,” Roger says, earning a smack to his shoulder from me. I stand, swatting his hand away when he reaches for me.

“Shoo, fly,” I tease, heading over to Deacy. When I turn around to say one last goodnight to Freddie, he’s headed into the bathroom. He throws a look at me over his shoulder and it puts a sour feeling in my stomach. He looks upset, betrayed almost, and I suddenly feel regret at kissing Roger. Maybe I went a bit too far.

“You comin’, Dais?” Deacy asks, offering me his arm. I nod, giving the now closed bathroom door one final look before stepping out into the cold wind.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I made a pretty big mistake and completely forgot that Brian was married in 1974 until I was almost done with this chapter and very happy with it, so I'm going to claim the "this is fanfiction" rule and introduce Chrissy at the end of this chapter. Whoops.

****

**21 March 1974**

Freddie hasn't spoken much to me since the kiss with Roger. To make matters worse, Roger told Brian very loudly the next morning over breakfast that we'd kissed. Freddie left the table as soon as he did and didn't return for twenty minutes.

Now we're on the road headed back to London for the night and I haven't had any time at all to get him alone. Brian's kept me close by since Roger's happy little announcement, even after I told him exactly what happened. It's beginning to get very annoying. Especially right now, when I try to hurry off the bus at the current stop to catch Freddie. Brian grabs my hand, pulling me back.

“Where are you off to so quickly?” he inquires suspiciously. He glances at Roger, who's leaving the bus behind Freddie, and I groan.

“I have to take a piss, Bri. You offering to help?” I snap, yanking my hand out of his and grabbing my bag. I stomp off of the bus before he can call me back, heading around the back of the shop next to the petrol station we’ve stopped at. I’m rifling through my bag in search of my cigarettes when I run headlong into a chest. When I look up, my stomach drops. It’s Freddie.

“Sorry,” I murmur, swallowing. He doesn’t answer, just turns to lean against the concrete wall beside us. My fingers finally close around my pack of cigarettes, and I tug them out before letting my bag drop back to my side. I glance over at Freddie, who’s pointedly ignoring me. I sigh, biting my lip.

“Freddie, did I - did I do something wrong?” I ask, knitting my eyebrows in concern. He shrugs with one shoulder, still not looking at me.

“Now, why in the world would you think that?” he answers coldly. I stare at him, unsure of what to say, but it isn’t silent for long. “I mean, it was more a mistake on my part. But, I do hope you and Roger enjoy the rest of the tour together.”

My mouth drops open and I laugh dryly, turning to lean my shoulder against the wall.

“Freddie, Roger and I aren’t _together_ ,” I say, dumbfounded. His eyes finally turn to mine, one eyebrow raised.

“So you just kiss everyone who asks you to?”

I try hard not to roll my eyes, pulling a cigarette out. It breaks in my haste and I toss it to the ground before pulling out another.

“First of all, I don’t appreciate what you’re implying, Freddie,” I say, my voice shaking slightly. I light the cigarette with a match, taking a drag before pulling it back out of my mouth.

“Secondly, who I kiss is honestly none of your business. And, thirdly, it meant absolutely nothing. We were playing around.”

Freddie stares at me, his eyes narrowing.

“Yes, and it obviously wasn’t the only game you were playing.”

I shake my head, taking another drag of my cigarette. The smoke burns as I inhale.

“Freddie, why do you care if I kissed Roger?”

“Do you want him?”

We ask our questions at the same time, both of us pausing to wait for an answer. I look away, my eyes on the treeline in front of us, and shake my head.

“No,” I answer simply. I hope he’ll drop it but have a feeling he won’t. Sure enough, he looks at me and opens his mouth.

“Do you want someone _other_ than Roger?”

I feel my stomach flip. I think he’s talking about himself, but I’m not sure. Which makes it even more of a loaded question than it already would have been. I glance down at my hand, flicking away the ash at the end of my cigarette.

“I don’t know,” I finally say, looking back up at Freddie. “If I did, I’d want to be sure he wants me back, though.”

Freddie and I just stare at each other for a moment, him obviously just as confused as I am. Finally, he looks away, down at his feet, and speaks.

“If this other person _did_ want you, though, would you have them?”

My eyes go wide at the question, and my mind reels. Would I have him? Absolutely, in a heartbeat. But when I think about everything I've been through in the past few months - my father's death, Molly and I splitting up, taking a break from school - I'm not sure if I'm in the right place to be in a relationship with someone else. To have to care for them, be vulnerable to them - I need to get my head on straight first.

And, of course, there's Brian. Who suddenly rounds the corner. His eyes drop to the cigarette in my hand and he crosses his arms over his chest.

“Taking a piss, eh? Is this what you've been hiding from me?”

I flush, suddenly feeling a wave of completely irrational rage towards Brian.

“Yes, Brian, I fucking smoke,” I snap, flicking the cigarette to the ground and stomping on it. Brian takes a step towards me, his brows furrowed in anger.

“Daisy, you know how I feel about-” he starts, but I stop him.

“Yes, Brian, I know and I don’t fucking _care_ ,” I yell, clenching my fists. Brian’s hazel eyes turn to Freddie and he glares.

“Oh, this is just bloody great. Are you the one who got her started, then?” he accuses, raising a hand to point at Freddie. I slap his hand down, shoving at his chest when he crowds my space.

“Jesus Christ, Brian, Freddie didn’t get me started smoking. I’ve been smoking since I was with Molly, I just-” I start, but saying her name out loud bites at my heart painfully. Brian looks at me quizically.

“Your roommate Molly? She got you started?”

“She wasn’t just my fucking roommate, she was my girlfriend, and yes, she got me addicted to fucking cigarettes before she kicked me out. Which was two days before my father died, you arrogant asshole. So, please, get off your high horse and stop fucking acting like you have to take his place.”

Brian just stares at me as I finish yelling. My chest heaves, my cheeks feel hot, and I can feel tears pricking my eyes. After a moment I can see the hurt blooming on his face and I feel the sharp tug of regret.

“Fine,” he says, his voice hard. “You can clearly take care of yourself. But when you get sick from those bloody things, don’t come crying to me.”

I watch as Brian turns and leaves, gravel crunching under his feet. I don’t move even after he’s rounded the corner and is out of sight. I hear Freddie walk up behind me and he puts a hand on my shoulder.

“Daisy-” he begins, but stops speaking when I turn and bury my face in his neck. The sobs the wrack my body are painful, wounded ones, but I vaguely register that Freddie’s wrapping his arms around me tightly. He lets me cry it out into his neck, rubbing my back gently. After a few minutes my sobs have reduced to sniffles and I pull away from Freddie.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, wiping my nose on the sleeve of my jumper. Freddie shakes his head, tilting my head up to wipe away my tears,

“Just consider us even, now,” he says, giving me a soft smile. “Besides, I should be the one who’s sorry for being cross with you. Forgive me?”

I knit my eyebrows, reaching up to squeeze his wrists.

“Of course, Freddie,” I answer, then give him a small glare. “Even if you did think that I would be into _Roger_.”

He gives a sheepish giggle, lowering his eyes.

“Oh, and to answer your question,” I say softly, reaching up to tilt his face back up. He looks into my eyes, looking nervous. “Yes, I would have him, but only after I’ve gotten my head on straight. I wouldn’t want to be able to give him anything less than my whole heart, once it’s healed.”

Freddie’s eyes light up and his nervous grin becomes more confident. He nods softly, his hands dropping to my waist.

“And I’m sure he’ll wait for you, as long as it takes.”

* * *

I don’t speak to Brian for the rest of the day. When Freddie and I get back to the bus, Roger asked what crawled up his ass and died. I look away guiltily and Freddie just shrugs. Surprisingly it seems no one heard our row, but they do choose to ignore Brian’s sullen glares from the back of the bus. I figure I should probably go and apologize, but I figure I should probably do it in private.

As if he’s reading my mind, Freddie nudges me into a seat next to him.

“We’ll be back in London in a few hours,” he whispers, getting comfortable and looking at me. “I’m sure by then he’ll have settled down and you can talk to him.”

I chuckle darkly. “I really hope so, since I’m supposed to be staying in his flat tonight.”

Freddie nudges my shoulder with his and smiles at me. “Well, if everything goes badly you can just come stay with me. I’ll kip on the couch.”

I grin at him.

“Thanks, Fred.”

The rest of the trip passes in relative calm. I finish my book, then pass it on to Freddie while I nap. He wakes me just as we make it back to London. The bus stops near Paddington and everyone scrambles to collect their things. Freddie holds my book out but I shake my head.

“Finish it, the ending’s the best part,” I say. He thanks me, tucking it into his bag. I’m fastening my coat when Brian comes up beside us. He’s got our suitcases on one shoulder and he doesn’t look at me.

“C’mon, Daisy,” he says stiffly. Freddie gives me a look and I whisper goodnight before following Brian off of the bus. He quickly collects his guitar and heads down Praed Street without a word to me.

“Brian,” I call, jogging to keep up with him. He ignores me so I reach out to grab his sleeve. He still doesn’t speak to me, but slows enough that I can keep up with him at a quick walk.

The ride to his stop is long and tense, and we spend it in silence until we get to his flat. By the time he’s unlocking the door I can’t take anymore of it.

“Bri, I’m sorry,” I say, watching as he drops the bags from his shoulder and sets down his guitar. He looks at me, crossing his arms over his chest. He raises an eyebrow and I continue.

“You were just trying to take care of me and I was completely out of line.”

“You seriously think that’s what I’m pissed about?” he asks, and I’m taken by surprise. When I don’t answer him he rolls his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me about you and Molly?”

It’s a question I definitely wasn’t expecting, so I have no idea how to answer it. The truth is that Molly and I didn’t tell anyone about our relationship. We were lucky enough being women that we could get away with some PDA without question; things like walking arm in arm to class or eating out for dinner seemed normal for two female friends. No one suspected we were anything more.

“Bri, I…” I begin, but I honestly don’t know what to say. Brian raises an eyebrow.

“Did you love her?” he asks bluntly. I look down at my clasped hands and swallow the lump in my throat.

“I still do,” I whisper. I look back up at Brian with tears in my eyes and I see him soften. “I didn’t tell you because I was scared.”

“Did you honestly think I would think any less of you?” he asks. He sounds hurt more than angry and I shake my head quickly.

“No, Bri, I just- we didn’t tell _anyone_. I mean, you know how my dad was.”

Brian nods, looking down and clearing his throat.

“Well, for the record, I would have supported you a hundred percent. I’m only mad that I wasn’t there for you,” he says. I bite my trembling lip, then can’t hold back the sob anymore. Brian’s holding me in an instant, his cheek resting on my head. For the second time that day I’m held until I’m done crying, and this time I feel drained when I’m done. Brian guides me to the couch, lowering both of us onto it. He keeps an arm over my shoulders and I lean into his side.

“For the record, if Molly was a man, I’d kick her dumb arse,” Brian mumbles against the crown of my head. I laugh softly, sniffling.

“Thanks, Bri,” I answer. Maybe he isn’t so annoying after all.

“Alright, well. I don't know about you, but I'm bloody starving. Should we go get something to eat?” Brian says, squeezing my shoulder gently. My stomach growls as if on cue and we both laugh.

“Yeah, let’s go eat.”

* * *

**22 March 1974**

When I wake up it takes me a moment to realize where I am. I'm buried under a mound of blankets that could do with a good wash. Then I hear a loud swear and equally loud shushing that remind me what woke me in the first place.

“I fucking swear, Roger, I will murder you,” I hear Brian hiss, then the sound of a loud smack and whispered “owwww” float across the room.

“If you're smacking him because you're afraid he'll wake me you're too late. I'm up.”

I push the blankets out of my face and sit up, rubbing my eyes. When they focus I see that the band is all there. Brian's holding a spatula that he obviously just smacked Roger with. The blonde is rubbing his arm and glaring petulantly at Brian. John is sitting on the couch with a mug of something that's steaming, coffee from the smell of it, and Freddie's sitting at the open window. He smiles at me when I meet his gaze.

“Well, there you go, Rog. Animal,” Brian sneers. He turns back to the stove and flips what I see are pancakes.

“Says the one who didn't even bother to say _good morning Daisy_ ,” Roger replies, his voice rising on the last three words. He crosses the room and drops onto the bed, laying his head in my lap. I move to thread my fingers into his hair but pause, glancing up at Freddie. He gives an almost imperceptible nod, so I do. Roger hums softly, closing his eyes.

“Does this mean you forgive me?” I ask playfully. Roger hums, cracking open one eye.

“Any chance at another kiss?”

“Oh, for fucks sake, Rog, _I'm right bloody here_ ,” Brian groans. He lobs half of a pancake across the room and it lands on Roger's chest. I pull a face when he picks it up and takes a bite from it.

“Oh, well. Yeah, I guess you're forgiven,” he concedes, looking at me upside down. I lightly pinch the tip of his nose before sliding out from under him. I reach over the side of the bed and grab one of Brian's jumpers. When I tug it over my shirt I stand and it falls to my mid thigh, but when I look at Freddie I can see his cheeks are still tinged pink.

“Oh, legs,” Roger coos, and I find myself blushing under Freddie’s gaze. I evade Roger’s reaching fingers and circle the bed, crossing the flat quickly to the bathroom.

Once the door is closed I take a deep breath, letting it out through pursed lips. I can’t deny the rush I got when I saw Freddie looking at me, both of us knowing that there’s only a tiny pair of panties beneath Brian’s jumper. I glance at my reflection, frowning at myself. I shouldn’t be having thoughts like this, especially when the whole band is here.

But somehow that makes it hotter, and I can’t help but lean against the counter a bit. The edge presses into my lower belly and I let out a soft gasp at the rush between my legs. Yes, having Roger and Brian and Deacy see me like that while Freddie and I were the only ones who knew exactly which person I wanted to see my body was turning me on more than it probably should. And the things I’d like Freddie to do to my legs, and what’s between them…

My hand drifts down under the jumper, rubbing at the damp fabric there, and I moan softly. I close my eyes and remember just two nights ago in Manchester, when Freddie was on stage. I’d managed to get a spot right in front, and my eyes were on him nearly the whole show. He’d knelt down at one point, dropping into a squat so that he was eye level with me. They were playing _See What A Fool I’ve Been_ and I’d been singing along to every word. The adrenaline was rushing through both of us and there was a fire in his eyes that bore into my soul.

I press my fingers down a bit harder, pleasure shooting through my core as I massage myself through my panties. Just thinking about how he was looking at me, the same fire in his eyes, pulls me closer and closer to the edge until-

“Oye, pancakes are ready!”

I clutch the edge of the counter as my eyes fly open, my face flushing even though I know there’s no way any of them heard me.

“Coming!” I call a little too enthusiastically, but Roger seems to have already left. So, I do what I went into the bathroom to do and wash my hands, patting my face with water just for good measure. I grab the pair of jeans I’d discarded in the corner the night before and tug them on before heading back out to the main room.

“Aw, no more legs,” Roger pouts, poking his bottom lip out. I roll my eyes, heading straight for the coffee maker. I move to pour myself a cup but Brian clicks his tongue.

“No more milk,” he says, and I grimace. I can’t drink black coffee and he knows it, but he also knows how desperately I need my caffeine in the morning. Freddie comes up behind me as I set the mug I’d picked up back down and holds his own out to me.

“Here. I used the last of the milk for my tea,” he says. I smile softly up at him before taking the cup. My hands tremble a bit as they close around the mug. I take a large sip of it and it’s perfect.

“Oh, fuck,” Brian suddenly mutters, scratching his head. I look over at him and raise an eyebrow. “There’s no syrup.”

I stare at him for a moment before groaning.

“Well, it’s better than nothing,” I concede, handing Freddie back his tea and turning to grab a stack of mismatched plates from the rack above the counter. I feel a hand at my hip steady me and know it’s Freddie, and I have to bite back a moan. His thumb barely brushes my skin above my jeans and I almost drop the plates.

“Alright there Dais?” Brian asks, raising an eyebrow at me. I drop back onto my heels and Freddie pulls his hand away.

“Fine, just… you’re a giant,” I reply lamely, handing him the stack of plates. I glance over at Freddie to see his cheeks are pink again and his eyes have somehow gotten darker. I feel my own cheeks heat and bite my lip.

_You’re not ready,_ the logical part of my brain tries to argue, but my heart hammers in my chest at the thought of Freddie’s hand on my skin. I force myself to look away from him and grab the plate of pancakes that Brian holds out to me, passing Freddie to go back out and join Roger and Deacy.

* * *

**31 March 1974 | London, England | Rainbow Theatre**

“Thank you! Thank you very much! Goodnight!”

I watch as Freddie takes another bow, blowing the audience a kiss before heading backstage. Tonight’s show was phenomenal, probably because of the short break the band was getting. The last week and a half had been filled with shows pretty much back-to-back, and I know they’re tired. But tonight’s show was recorded, we’d found out, and the boys had performed accordingly. I, on the other hand, had done my best to avoid the cameras backstage earlier.

Freddie meets my eye as he gets backstage, smiling brightly at him as a roadie takes his mic. It had become more and more difficult not to flirt openly with Freddie. It was even harder to deal with my feelings while constantly having to share a room with Brian and Deacy. Earlier I’d had to shove a flannel in my mouth as I rubbed myself to a mindblowing orgasm in the shower thinking of Freddie. Even now, I have to clench my thighs as I look at Freddie’s exposed chest beneath his unbuttoned shirt. I do my best to keep my eyes on his face as he finally makes it to where I’m standing with the roadies.

“How was it, darling?” he asks breathlessly, taking the glass of water I’m holding out to him and raising his eyebrows at me. I shrug, smiling facetiously.

“It was alright,” I say, and Freddie laughs.

“You wound me, dear,” he replies, and I just give him a coy smile. He winks at me, handing me back the glass and stepping close. “This last one’s for you. I know how much you like when I sing it.”

He winks at me and then turns, heading back out onto the stage for the encore. The crowd, who had been chanting, cheers as the lights come back up.

“ _See What a Fool I’ve Been_ ,” Freddie says simply, glancing over at me with a smirk. I immediately feel a rush when I realize he’d noticed me get all hot and bothered at the show in Manchester. As Brian begins the opening chords I bite my lip, watching Freddie closely as he walks up and down across the stage, singing his heart out. He shoots me continuous glances, each one heated and wanting. By the time it’s done I’ve chewed my lip about raw.

The band comes bounding off of the stage as soon as the lights go out, Brian and Deacy handing their guitars off to roadies. Roger lights up when he sees me, coming over and grabbing my hand. I let him spin me around, giggling.

“How’d we do?” he asks. I smile brightly at him, squeezing his hand.

“Wonderful, Rog,” I answer. I catch Freddie’s eye over Roger’s shoulder and see he’s smiling at me. I grin back, letting go of Roger’s hand. I’m on my way over to Freddie when Brian throws an arm over my shoulder.

“You did great, Bri,” I say, squeezing his waist and looking up at him. He grins down at me, squeezing my shoulder.

“Thanks, Dais.”

We’re on our way into the dressing room when Roger turns around, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Let’s go out tonight,” he says, looking around to each of us. Brian looks down at me, raising his eyebrows.

“I’m in,” he says, and Roger looks at me.

“What d’ya say, Pidge, you in?”

I laugh at the nickname, but nod.

“Of course, Rog,” I answer, laughing when Roger claps excitedly and runs into the dressing room, Brian and I close behind him. Freddie and Deacy are collecting their clothes, both shooting me grins when I walk in. Brian leaves my side to get his own clothes, so I cross the room to make sure all of the makeup is in order. I’m taking a mental inventory when I feel someone come up behind me.

“I take it you’re going out with us?”

I turn my head, meeting Freddie’s eye. I nod, watching as his eyes flick to my mouth. Then he leans back a bit and looks me up and down.

“You’re going to wear that?” he asks, and I glance down at my outfit. I’d dressed down tonight, choosing a pair of jeans and one of Brian’s t-shirts. Freddie tsks and looks down at his own shirt. I know what he’s thinking before he suggests it and I smile coyly at him before reaching down to tug my shirt off. I pull it over my head, revealing a lacy black bra. My heart pounds as I watch Freddie do the same, his eyes falling on my own as he hands it to me. I pull it over my head, the open front of the shirt completely revealing my bra and the top of my stomach.

“Much better,” Freddie says, his voice hoarse. He steps close, reaching around me. I can feel his body heat as he leans close, reaching around me into the makeup bag behind me. He leans back and I see he has an eyeliner pencil in his hand.

“May I?” he asks, licking his lips. I nod, my stomach flipping. I close my eyes, clenching my fists as my nerves overtake me. I can smell the nicotine on Freddie’s fingers as he begins tracing my eyes. I can feel his breath on my face when he switches to the other eye. He’s looking at me when I open my eyes, an expression on his face I’ve never seen before.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, leaning in slowly. He stops halfway and I find I don’t want him to, so I reach up to slide a hand around the back of his neck, leaning up to close the space between us. But before our lips can meet, I hear Brian and Roger. Freddie and I each take a step back, avoiding each other’s eyes as the boys come back in.

“Alright, where’re we off to?” Roger asks, rubbing his hands together and looking between all of us. Brian quirks an eyebrow at my change of clothes but I ignore him.

“Don’t care, as long as it’s fun,” Freddie says, dropping the eyeliner back in the bag and heading over to pick up his clothes. He shoots me one last look over his shoulder before heading out of the room.

An hour later we’re at a bar that I’ve already forgotten the name of and I’m nice and tipsy. I’d decided to let myself go a little tonight, drinking something a little stronger than a beer. I’m not sure what it’s called, but it tastes good. I’m standing at the end of the bar with Deacy trying to carry on a conversation about our favorite books. Roger is dancing with some girl. Brian is chatting a few feet away with another girl, I think her name is Chrissy. And Freddie is standing against the wall, his eyes not leaving me for a moment. He sips at his beer, his eyes dark. I’m glad when Deacy excuses himself to the bathroom. He glances at Freddie, probably remembering that Brian made them swear to look after me.

“I’ll be with Fred,” I say, glad that the stars have finally aligned. Freddie holds eye contact with me as I cross the bar, peering down at me when I make it to him.

“Want to go for a cigarette?”

I smile when he nods, pushing himself off of the wall and setting his beer on a table. I down the last of my drink, grimacing at the burn, and do the same. He slips his hand into mine as we weave our way through the crowd towards the back door.

The alley at the back of the bar is dark and cold. It smells slightly of the rubbish pile in the corner, but I can’t find it in me to care. Not when I’m _finally_ alone with Freddie. Speaking of Freddie, he turns so he’s facing me, hand still in mine.

“Please tell me we’re not really out here for a cigarette,” he says, his voice low. I smirk up at him, stepping close enough that our chests are touching, and loop a hand around the back of his neck.

“We’re not really out here for a cigarette.”

For the second time that night he leans in, and this time I’m actually able to press up onto my toes and meet his mouth halfway. The moment our lips touch we melt against each other. He drops my hand, choosing to hold my waist instead. His other hand comes up to cradle the base of my skull, his thumb gently digging into my neck. I moan, opening my mouth to him. He tastes of beer and he expertly explores my mouth, running his tongue along the flat of my teeth before pressing it to my own. My free hand finds its way to his back, pulling him impossibly closer, and he takes the opportunity to push me up against the wall behind us.

“God, I want you,” he murmurs, kissing a line down my neck. He suckles at a spot just above my collarbone and I shiver.

“I want you, too, Freddie,” I whisper, my fingers digging into his back and neck when he bites gently at my collarbone. His hand slowly slides around to my jaw, maneuvering my neck up so he can run his tongue along the exposed part of my chest. I moan, bucking my hips against his.

“Oye! Take it somewhere else!”

Both of us start, turning to see someone come out of the shop behind the bar. I flush, looking down at my feet as I let go of Freddie. He looks at me sheepishly before tugging me back into the bar. We make it inside the door when he turns to me, taking my hands in his.

“Stay with me tonight,” he asks, his eyes pleading. I’m sure he can see the apprehension in my face because he continues. “We won’t go further than you’re ready to. I just want to be near you.”

I look at him for a moment, glancing over at Brian. He’s kissing Chrissy, and probably wants to take her home just as badly as I want Freddie to take me home. So I nod, biting my lip.

“Let me go tell Bri, I’ll meet you out front.”

Freddie smiles widely, leaning in and kissing me deeply before pulling away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, obviously a posting schedule is out the window. I'll be posting whenever I have a chapter ready. 😂

****

**1 April 1974 | Freddie’s Flat | 12 Stafford Terrace, Kensington, London**

Freddie's flat is exactly how I'd imagined it. It’s warm, and the decor is modest but fashionable. Every inch of space is covered in intricately patterned furniture and vintage accessories, the couch bursting with bright, plush throw pillows. Freddie takes my coat, hanging it on a rack by the door. I can feel his eyes on me as I walk over to a framed photo on his mantle. Its of a woman and a baby in black and white.

“My mum and me, back in Zanzibar,” he says, coming up behind me. I smile, turning to look at him.

“She's beautiful,” I say. Freddie smiles back at me, running the back of his knuckles over my cheek.

“So are you, darling,” he murmurs, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to my mouth. I lean into it, sighing when his tongue brushes my lower lip. I pull away with a giggle, my hands going to his chest.

“Can we continue this somewhere else? I feel like your mum is watching us.”

Freddie laughs, taking my hand.

“Of course, love.”

He leads me across the living room and down a short hall to his bedroom. Once again, it’s exactly as I imagined: a double bed is against the back wall, plush pillows and blankets thrown haphazardly onto it. A wingback chair sits in one corner, and there’s a large wardrobe beside the window across from the door.

“Sorry about the mess,” Freddie apologizes, picking up a couple of shirts from the floor and tossing them onto the chair. I wave him off, crossing to drop down onto the edge of the bed. He walks over and switches on the lamp by the bed, casting the room in a soft glow.

I meet his eyes, watching them darken as he approaches me.

“I believe we were in the middle of something,” I say, beckoning him closer with a finger. He chuckles darkly and licks his lips. He nudges his way between my legs and leans down to kiss me, so I take advantage and close my fist in his shirt. I lean back, pulling him with me. He giggles into my mouth as he falls on top of me, shuffling so that he's settled between my legs.

“Naughty,” he teases, nuzzling his nose against mine. I grin, wrapping a leg around his waist and grinding my core up against him. He gasps, his eyes fluttering closed.

“ _Naughty_ ,” he growls again, burying his face in my throat as he rolls his hips. I moan, tangling my fingers in his hair and tugging. He whimpers, grinding harder.

“Freddie,” I whimper, pushing gently on his chest. He freezes, pulling back to look at me. I can tell he thinks he did something wrong, so I lean up to press a kiss to his mouth.

“I’m not ready to have sex,” I whisper, cupping his cheeks. “But I want more.”

He relaxes, smiling softly. He moves off of me, pressing a kiss to the valley between my breasts before standing. He tugs his shirt over his head and then reaches down to undo my jeans. I toe off my shoes as he pulls my jeans down, and flush when he groans at the panties that match my bra.

“You're so gorgeous,” he says, tugging my jeans completely off, along with my socks. Once he tosses them to the ground he climbs back over me, settling back between my legs. “How did I get so lucky?”

I shrug, raking my fingertips through the hair on Freddie's chest.

“Guess you'll just have to thank Brian. Once _he's_ done getting lucky,” I say, giggling when I think about how relieved he was when I told him I was going to stay with Freddie for the night so he could have the flat to himself.

“Poor sod, he's got no idea what sorts of _dirty_ things you're going to get up to tonight.”

Freddie grinds his hips down into me and I moan, the friction so much better without the hindrance of my jeans.

“What sorts of dirty things did you have in mind, Mr. Mercury?” I ask, my voice low and sultry. He licks his lips, nudging the tip of my nose with his.

“Well, first I think I'll take advantage of this position,” he murmurs, rolling his hips again. I reach down, tugging the button and fly of his pants open. He leans down to kiss me as I push them over the swell of his ass and down as far as I can. He manages to get them off the rest of the way, then grinds down into me, setting a steady rhythm.

“God, you're so wet,” he moans, his hips stuttering a bit when I whimper. The underside of his hard cock rubs deliciously against my clit, the simple layers of lace and cotton keeping us apart creating a wonderful friction.

“Freddie, if you keep this up I'm going to come,” I warn, wrapping my arms around his back. He rests his forehead against mine, panting into my open mouth.

“Maybe I want you to,” he answers, smirking down at me. I can feel the pressure building, my fingers digging into his back. I let out a breathy whine, leaning up to kiss him. I let myself go, grinding into him as hard as he's grinding into me.

“Come for me, Daisy,” he whispers into my mouth, pressing his hips down as he feels me begin to tense. I cry out as the first wave crests, whimpering Freddie's name as I ride out my orgasm. He works me through it, kissing along my jaw as his hips still. He keeps them pressed against me, letting me grind up into him.

“Fuck, that was-” I breathe, feeling Freddie nip at my jaw before he leans up.

“Exquisite,” he finishes, grinding into me one last time. I can feel how wet I am and realize that I wasn't the only who came. I giggle, biting my lip.

“Well, now then,” he says, still out of breath. “We should probably get cleaned up.”

I nod, letting him pull me up. His hands fall to my ass, squeezing it as he pulls me to him. He leans down to kiss me and I laugh into his mouth.

“I thought we were going to clean up, not get dirtier,” I say. Freddie grins down at me, slapping a cheek of my ass lightly.

“C'mon, then, dirty girl,” he says. He grabs my hand, leading me into the bathroom. It's the least decorated room in the flat, but still has a white shag rug in the middle of it and an abstract painting on the wall.

“Shag? In a bathroom?” I ask, and Freddie just looks at me.

“Style is everything, darling,” he answers, leaning around to start the shower. My stomach fills with butterflies at the thought of him finally seeing me completely naked, and when he looks at me I know he can tell.

“I can leave you to it, darling, if you don't want-”

But I cut him off, placing my hand against his lips gently.

“I want you to stay. It's just… been awhile since…” I let my voice fade, looking away.

“Since you were with a man?” he finishes, then raises an eyebrow. “Have you been with a man?”

I laugh softly, nodding.

“Yeah, Fred, I’ve been with a man. A few, actually,” I answer. The banter and his consideration give me enough confidence to pull his shirt up and over my head, carefully turning it right-side-out again before handing it to him. He sets it on the counter and turns back to me.

“Turn around?” he asks hesitantly. I smile softly at him, taking a step closer before doing so. He brushes my hair over my shoulder, leaning down to press a kiss to it as his hands close around the clasp to my bra. He undoes it, his fingertips sliding over the expanse of my back as I let the straps fall from my shoulders. I let it drop to the ground before turning. Freddie’s eyes fall to my chest, reaching out hesitantly for me. I step close to him and take his hand, pressing his palm against my left breast. He squeezes it softly, his thumb brushing my nipple as he leans in to kiss me.

I press close to him, reaching down to push my panties off. I let them slip down my legs and kick them away before reaching for the waistband of his underwear. I hook my thumbs under it, sliding them down. He mimics me and kicks them aside before pulling away. I feel slightly self conscious as he looks me up and down, but the feeling fades when I see the adoration in his eyes.

“Come, darling,” he whispers, taking my hand and pulling me towards the shower. I let him, squeezing it gently when he pulls back the shower curtain and steadies me as I step over the edge of the tub and under the spray. The warm water feels wonderful and I let my eyes drift shut as I tilt my head back. I hear the curtain close and the gentle movement of bottles, so I open my eyes again. Freddie’s holding a bottle of shampoo and he motions with one finger for me to turn.

“So, we’ve been on the road together for almost three weeks, yet I still know so little about you,” he says. I can hear the snap of the bottle being closed a moment before his fingers begin massaging my scalp. The gentle scent of Johnson and Johnson baby soap fills the air and I can’t help but close my eyes again.

“What do you want to know?” I ask, biting back a moan as he massages my temples. He hums for a moment before speaking.

“What’s your favorite flower?”

I ponder for a moment, never having been asked that before.

“Sunflowers,” I finally answer. “Yours?”

He’s silent for a moment.

“Roses. Favorite color?”

“Turquoise,” I answer rather quickly.

“Rinse,” he instructs, and I feel him reach around me to rinse his hands. I turn, keeping my eyes closed as I tilt my head back and rinse it clean. I feel his hands smooth over my scalp, making sure it’s completely rinsed. When he pulls away I open my eyes, looking at him.

“Your turn,” I offer, trading places with him.

We continue talking as I wash his hair, trading information like favorite foods (we have a shared affinity for Indian, though his is much more understandable) and favorite drinks (I gag when he tells me his favorite is vodka on ice, and he huffs when he hears mine is tequila and tonic with extra lime). We both adore cats, Freddie expressing his desire to have as many as possible when he can afford a bigger place. He tells me of his time in India and Zanzibar, and I tell him about growing up in the United States. By the time we’re drying off we’re both yawning, the night finally catching up with us.

“We should probably wash these off,” I say, wrapping my towel tightly around myself before leaning down to pick up our underwear from the floor. Freddie hums in agreement and presses a kiss to my shoulder blade as he passes me to grab the baby shampoo from the shower. I quickly wash the garments with it before laying them over the edge of the tub to dry.

When I turn, I see Freddie watching me closely.

“What?” I ask, unable to read the look on his face. He just shakes his head, smiling softly.

“Nothing, it’s just-” he starts, pausing and licking his lips. “I could get used to this.”

“What, watching me hand wash your come stained underwear?” I joke, walking up to wrap my arm around his waist.

“Ha, ha,” he chides, rolling his eyes. He reaches up to twist one of my curls around his finger, his eyes not meeting mine.

“You being here, wrapped in my towel, smelling of my soap,” he says softly. Seriously. I can’t help the smile that blooms across my lips and rest a hand on his chest, gently combing through the hair on it. He looks into my eyes and returns the smile.

“I could get used to it, too,” I whisper. He leans down to kiss me and it’s gentle and chaste.

“Let’s go to bed,” he murmurs, letting go of my hair and running his thumb across my cheekbone. He gently tugs the towel from my body, then his own, and lets them fall to the floor. I follow him back into the bedroom, padding softly across the floor to climb into bed. It’s ridiculously comfortable with all of the blankets and pillows and I sigh, my eyes heavy. Freddie turns off the lamp on the bedside table, plunging the room into darkness before climbing into bed next to me. I immediately curl into his side, resting my cheek on his chest. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

“Goodnight, Freddie,” I whisper, kissing his chest. He gently rubs his thumb over my shoulder and sighs.

“Goodnight, sweet Daisy,” he replies.

And for the first time in months I fall asleep easily, wrapped up in Freddie’s warmth.

* * *

 When I wake up it takes me a moment to remember where I am. The sun is shining brightly through a small part in the curtains, warming the room. I'm lying on my side, Freddie pressed up behind me. He's on his back, his left arm under my neck.

I simply lie there for a moment, letting my brain begin working. I feel Freddie shift, rolling onto his side and wrapping his free arm around my waist to pull me closer. I feel his lips on my shoulder blade and hum, running a hand along the inside of his forearm.

“Good morning,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to the inside of his elbow.

“Morning,” he responds. The word ends up smeared across my back as he continues to press kisses to it. I can feel him growing against the back of my thigh and can't help but press my hips back into him a little. He moans, his hand clenching where it's resting against my belly.

I turn in Freddie’s arms, his mouth immediately finding mine as I swing a leg over his hip. I gently push him onto his back, dipping my tongue into his mouth and straddling his hips. I can feel him growing harder as his cock ends up nestled between the lips of my cunt, so I roll my hips. Freddie moans loudly, his hands coming up to tangle in my hair. I pull away as I pick up the pace, pressing my face into his throat.

“Feels so good, darling,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep and arousal. I whimper in response as my engorged clit continues to rub along his length, my slick coating it.

“Oh, Freddie,” I manage to say, feeling my orgasm approach like a freight train. One of his hands slips down my back and he takes a handful of my ass, squeezing it hard. His fingers graze my cunt and I press back, wanting him to continue down. He doesn't, though, choosing instead to roll us.

“I want to taste you,” he whispers, and it's just as much a question as a statement. I look him in the eye and nod, letting my knees fall apart. He presses a kiss to my mouth, then over my chin. He carves a path of wet, sucking kisses down my body, his tongue tracing patterns down my throat. His mouth closes over a nipple and he sucks hard enough for me to arch my back and moan. My fingers tangle in his hair as he continues his journey down my body. He dips his tongue into my belly button and kisses down my lower belly before making it to the apex of my thighs. The skin is smooth since I shave regularly and he continues to press kisses to it until he reaches my clit.

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” I whimper, my fists tightening in his hair and my knees drawing up to give him more room. His talented tongue dips down to my entrance, moaning at the slick he finds there, before coming back up to circle my clit.

“Oh, god, Freddie, I'm gonna-” I try to warn, but it's too late. I come hard, my back bowing, toes curling, cunt pulsing against his mouth. He moans loudly, licking me through it as I grind against his face. When I finally settle back against the bed he pulls away, pressing one last kiss to my inner thigh before crawling back up my body.

“You taste _wonderful_ , darling,” he murmurs, moaning into my mouth when I pull him down for a kiss. I pull away and lick my lips, nodding.

“I really do, don't I?”

He groans at that, dropping his forehead to mine. I reach down, adjusting him so that the underside of his cock is resting against my sensitive cunt. He instinctively rolls his hips, the length dragging through my slick. Once it’s nice and wet, I wrap my hand around him.

“Darling, I can’t hold on much longer,” he says, licking his lips and closing his eyes as I slowly jerk him off. I bite my lip, tightening my fist.

“Then don’t, Freddie,” I murmur. His mouth falls to mine as he begins to fuck my fist, the knuckle of my thumb occasionally bumping my clit and sending jolting shocks of pleasure through my body. It only takes a dozen or so thrusts before he’s crying out, burying his face in my throat as he spills over my fist.

He collapses on top of me, pinning my hand and his cock between us.

“Holy _shit_ ,” he murmurs into the side of my neck. I giggle as he presses kisses to it, the gentle slide of his lips tickling my neck. He apparently enjoys my giggles because he blows a raspberry against the side of my neck. I let out a loud, shocked laugh, trying to push him away with my free hand. He simply wraps his arms around me, blowing another raspberry against my skin.

“Freddie, stop!” I laugh, wiggling beneath him.

“Never!” he exclaims, switching sides and blowing two more raspberries. I keep pushing at him, laughing loudly. He's just blown another against my neck when the bell sounds from downstairs. Freddie looks up towards the window, then back down to me.

“Who the bloody hell could that be?” he snaps, raising an eyebrow. “Don't they know I'm busy?”

He moves down to my chest, blowing yet another raspberry, and the bell sounds twice in quick succession.

“You'd better - stop - go answer that,” I giggle, managing to slip my dirty hand from between our bodies. I shove him towards the edge of the bed, poking my tongue out at him when he gives me a mock glare. But he stands, crossing to the window. He looks at me over his shoulder, wiggling his bare bottom at me before peeking through the curtains.

“Oh, shit,” he suddenly says, stiffening. “It's Brian.”

I sit up quickly, bounding out of bed.

“Freddie, he _cannot_ know about this,” I say, gathering my jeans. Freddie's face falls a bit.

“Why not?” he asks, his voice soft. I pause and look at him, knowing that he probably thinks it's him. I cross the room to him, cupping his cheek.

“I just want to keep this between us for a little while longer,” I say softly, running my thumb over his bottom lip. “Brian… I'm just not ready to tell him, okay?”

Freddie doesn't look happy about it, but he nods nonetheless. The bell rings again and I glance at the bedroom door. Freddie shoos me towards the bathroom and I go.

I grab a flannel from last night and wet it, cleaning my belly and between my legs before I get dressed. One of Freddie's shirts is lying beside the counter and I grab it, not wanting anything to happen to his costume shirt. I check my reflection in the mirror, fluffing my hair quickly before leaving the bathroom. I grab my shoes and I can hear Brian and Freddie in the living room. I take a deep breath before heading out into the living room.

_Don't look like you just got eaten out by Freddie and gave him a handjob,_ I think to myself, and then roll my eyes at how stupid I sound.

“Hey Dais,” Brian greets, smiling at me. He raises an eyebrow at my shirt and I shrug.

“So, was she good?” I ask, smirking at Brian. He shoves his hands in his pockets and smiles sheepishly at me.

“She's fantastic,” he says, sounding truly smitten. I grin at him, crossing my arms over my chest. “Sorry about kicking you out last night.”

I wave Brian off, glancing at Freddie. Luckily he's dressed and seems to be free of any remnants of our earlier tryst.

“It was fine. Freddie's good company, and you _desperately_ needed a lay.”

Brian gives me a sarcastic smile. “Thanks,” he snaps. I shrug and he turns to Freddie. “Anyways, I'm here to collect my asshole godsister and get her out of your hair.”

I flip Brian off as I walk over to Freddie. I lean up to give him a kiss on the cheek, lingering a bit. His hand goes to my hip and he squeezes it.

“Thanks for having me,” I say, and I see a knowing glint in Freddie’s eyes. He smiles, nodding.

“Anytime, love.”

**2 April 1974 | Birmingham, UK | Barbarella’s Nightclub**

“God, can they just let us go on already?” Roger complains, flopping next to Freddie on the couch. He lets his head flop on Freddie's shoulder and groans. I look over at him, packing up the last of the make up. We all look over when Brian comes striding in, flopping down on a chair.

“Ten minutes,” he says, fluffing his hair. Roger groans again, rolling his eyes. I close the makeup case and cross to the couch, sitting down next to Roger. He picks his head up and looks at me for a moment before grabbing his beer.

“So, Daisy, you excited to go back to America?”

I knit my eyebrows, looking at him. I hear Brian groan and look over to him.

“Aw, shit, I completely forgot to ask you,” he groans, slapping his forehead. Roger chokes on his beer.

“What d'you mean you _forgot to ask her_?” he demands, setting his beer back down and looking annoyed at Brian. I glance between the two of them and raise my hands.

“Wait, wait, wait - ask me what?”

“We want you to come on the American leg of the tour with us,” Roger says. I look over to Brian, who nods. My heart sinks.

“Roger, I can't afford that,” I say quietly. He stares at me as if I've grown another head.

“You won't have to pay anything. We've got it worked out,” he says, waving me off. I feel a touch of annoyance at the fact that they decided all of this without me, but try to keep it out of my voice.

“Look, it's not that I don't _want_ to go, it's just… I don't want to be a leech. If I go, either I'm going to figure out a way to pay for it myself or I'm not going.”

There's a moment of silence where Roger looks downtrodden and Brian bites his thumbnail nervously, but then Freddie leans forward on his knees.

“Be my makeup artist.”

I stare at him, considering it.

“In fact, you should do _all_ of our makeup. It gets annoying doing it all the time,” Brian adds, perking up and looking at me. I glance at them, still unsure.

“You said you'd go if you could pay for it yourself. If you do our makeup, you’d have a job with the band. We could provide you with room and board instead of a paycheck. Darling, I think that settles it,” Freddie says, not quite matter-of-factly as much as hopefully. I consider him for a moment, knowing he has ulterior motives. But then I remember our conversation from the night before last and the feeling of being with him. Am I really prepared to give that up until June?

“Okay, I'll go,” I finally answer. Roger cheers, leaning over to hug me. I look over his shoulder to see that Freddie's grinning, and I smile back.

“We're on! Roger, why are you hugging Daisy?” Deacy says, appearing in the doorway. Roger lets go of me, standing.

“She's just agreed to come to America with us!” he exclaims. Deacy grins widely.

“Really? You're sure you want to put up with all of us for another few months?” he asks. But his voice betrays his joy and I grin at him. Before I can answer, though, Roger smacks his arm.

“Don't make her change her mind!” he snaps. He shoots me a grin before bouncing out the door. Deacy and Brian follow, but Freddie claims his eyeliner is smudged and needs a moment with me to fix it.

“Fred, it looks fine-” Brian starts, but gives up when Freddie gives him a look. “Fine, but don't take too long. We sort of _need_ our lead singer.”

Once the room is empty aside from Freddie and I, he bounds over to me and picks me up by my waist. I giggle as he spins me around, kissing me as he sets me back on my feet.

“Freddie,” I giggle in warning, holding his hips. “You're going to actually smudge your makeup if you aren't careful.”

“I'm just so excited that you're going, love!” he breathes. I let him kiss me again before gently pushing him back.

“I'm excited, too, Freddie, but you need to get out there for the show.”

He pouts at me and I roll my eyes, smiling.

“Okay, okay, _one_ more kiss,” I concede. He cups my cheek, leaning in gently this time. He nibbles my bottom lip before his hand drops and he pulls away.

“Alright, darling,” he says, squeezing my hand and pulling me towards the door. We walk out to the stage together and I hang back with the roadies, watching as the lights go out and the boys head out onto the stage.

And as Brian begins playing the processional, and I can feel the butterflies start, I realize that this may be the start of something amazing, and I cannot fucking _wait_.


	5. Chapter 5

****

**5 April 1974 | London | Freddie’s Flat**

I moan, grinding down harder on Freddie’s lap. He nibbles my bottom lip, his hands squeezing my ass tightly. I lick into his mouth, reaching down to tug my skirt up a bit higher, and continue rocking my hips against his. I lean back, placing my hands on his shoulders as I continue to grind down on him.

We’re currently on his couch, my makeup bag forgotten on the floor in front of the couch. I’d come over here under the guise of testing out looks on Freddie, and Brian had been quick to agree since Chrissy was free tonight. I’ve only been here ten minutes, half of which I’ve been right  _ here _ , on Freddie’s lap. 

“Just like that,” Freddie murmurs, guiding my hips against him. His hands slip under my skirt, fingertips biting into my cheeks. I moan lightly, letting my head fall back as I approach my orgasm quickly.

“Freddie,” I whimper. My hips begin to stutter and Freddie suddenly lets go of my ass with one hand, bringing it around to the front. He slips his hand between my legs, my clit suddenly rubbing hard against his palm as his fingers press against my entrance. 

“Oh, fuck, I’m coming Freddie,” I whine, dropping my forehead to his as I clench around nothing. He presses his hand harder against me, rocking it back and forth, drawing my orgasm out as long as possible. I pant into his mouth, our lips barely grazing one another. His hand eventually stills, remaining between our bodies until I rise. I push myself up onto my knees before shuffling back, stepping off of the couch. Freddie watches me with curious, hooded eyes as I nudge his knees apart and settle between them. When I reach for the button of his trousers, realization dawns on his face. 

“Darling, you don't have-” he begins, but I surge up and cut him off with a firm kiss to his lips. 

“I want to,” I murmur. Freddie nods and I sink back down onto my heels. I pop the button open, the pull down the zipper. I grin when I see he isn't wearing anything under his trousers.

“Naughty boy,” I tease, pulling his cock from his pants. He blushes, his cock jumping in my hand. I swallow, a bit nervous, before leaning forward and pulling back his foreskin. It's been a while since I had a cock in my mouth and I'm afraid it won't be good for him. 

“Darling, if you're not ready-” Freddie starts, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. His words turn into a long moan when I bend forward and lick experimentally at the head. He drops his head back when I repeat the motion, whining softly. 

I take that as a good sign and take it a little further, dropping my jaw and sucking him into my mouth. He laces his fingers into my hair and tugs a bit, sending goosebumps racing down my back. I moan around him, pumping the part of his shaft that can't fit in my mouth with my hand. 

“Your mouth feels so good, sweetheart,” he murmurs. I look up to see him watching me and flush under the attention, speeding up a bit. My jaw begins to ache so I pull off of his cock, using both hands on his length. I lean forward and swirl my tongue around his tip, pressing the tip into his slit. He moans brokenly at that, bucking his hips.

I sink back down on him again, relaxing my throat as much as possible and swallowing him almost to the hilt. He cries out, tugging my hair. 

“Oh god, darling, I'm going to - ah - come soon,” he pants. I pull off of him and swallow, nodding. 

“Come, Freddie,” I say simply, flattening my tongue against the bottom of his cock head. I wiggle it as I pump his shaft, watching his face. His mouth drops open, soft whimpers and moans falling from it as he gets closer and closer to coming. 

Then his head falls back, eyes closed, and I pull my head back just as he begins shooting ropes of come over my fist. I work him through it, pumping him slowly but firmly. Finally his cock stops pulsing and he looks back down at me. His knuckles brush my cheek as he leans forward, and I meet him in a kiss halfway. He sucks on my lower lip before pulling back to rest his forehead against mine. 

“It would seem my mouth isn't the only talented one in this relationship,” he breathes. I giggle, biting my lip. When I pull away he's staring at me, a smile on his mouth. I return it, nuzzling my nose against his. 

“Let's go get cleaned up,” I say, kissing him one last time before standing. He swats my ass playfully as I go to the kitchen, him heading back towards the bathroom. By the time I'm finished washing my hands he's back, no trace of our earlier activities. He drops onto the couch, picking up my makeup bag and opening it in his lap. He pauses when I sit beside him, one leg tucked under me so I can face him.

“Oh, so are we actually going to get around to what I came here to do?” I joke, raising an eyebrow. Freddie smirks, pulling out my eyeshadow palette. 

“You honestly think I believe you came here to actually play with makeup?” he responds. I can’t fight back my smile, biting my lip as I take the palette from him.

“Guess you caught me.”

Freddie turns towards me, tucking one leg between me and the couch and wrapping the other around my hip. I pull my leg up, laying it over his thigh so that we’re perfectly intertwined before opening the palette and leaning in close. He takes the opportunity to lean forward and steal a kiss.

“Don’t distract me,” I murmur, glaring at him playfully before I glance down and begin choosing eyeshadow.

* * *

**15 April 1974 | London | Brian’s Flat**

 

“Holy  _ hell _ something smells good.”

I look over my shoulder and grin at Roger, who's shrugging off his jacket. He and Freddie have just arrived at Brian's flat to go over the next leg of the tour. Deacy's been here for a half hour or so, puttering around on the guitar with Brian while I cook. 

“What is it?” Roger asks, coming up behind me and peering at the pans on the stove. 

“Pot roast,” I answer, stirring the onions I'm browning for the gravy. Roger hums, resting his chin on my shoulder. 

“What's rabbit boy eating?” he asks, and I grin. 

“Brian's eating potatoes and sprouts. Does he know you call him rabbit boy?”

Roger shrugs and backs away from me to grab a beer from the fridge. He pops it open on the counter and takes a decent chug, leaning next to me. 

“So,” he muses, raising his eyebrow at me. “How long have you and Freddie been shagging?”

I feel like the floor falls out from under my feet. I can't formulate proper thoughts at the moment, let alone full sentences, so I stick with spluttering and shaking my head. 

“I'm- we're- haven't been  _ shagging _ ,” I manage to get out, my hand clenching the spatula in it like my life depends on it. Roger raises his eyebrow even higher, smirking. 

“Daisy, you are the  _ worst _ liar I've ever met, do you know that?” 

I shake my head, my face flushing. 

“How did you…?” I begin, pausing when Roger reaches in his pocket and pulls out my panties from the first night I spent at Freddie's. I gasp, reaching up to yank them out of his hand. I shove them in my own pocket and point the spatula at his face. 

“Roger, if you tell Brian, I swear I'll-” 

“You'll what?”

I stare at him, knowing I've been backed up to a proverbial wall. So, instead, I do what I always did with my dad and pull puppy eyes. Before I can start begging, though, Roger rolls his eyes. 

“I'm not going to tell Brian,” he says, prompting a deep sigh from me. “You're good for him. Better than Mary was.” 

I smile softly at him, lowering the spatula. He winks at me, raising his beer to his lips and heading out to the living room. I watch him go, biting my lip as I consider what Roger knowing about Freddie and me means. As I turn back to the stove, I let the jumbled thoughts in my mind roll around freely.

I don’t think Roger would  _ knowingly _ tell Brian. In the time that I’ve known him, albeit short, I’ve come to realize how fiercely loyal he is. Almost to a fault. But he does tend to say whatever pops into his head when he’s upset or drunk, and both happen quite often. What if he says something without meaning to?

_ But would it really be that bad if Brian knew? _ I think to myself. 

I dismiss the thought reluctantly. While it would be nice to not have to hide, to be able to openly tell him why I want to spend the night at Freddie’s, and kiss Freddie whenever I want, and hold his hand, and snuggle up next to him, I can’t help but remember the absolute torture he put my first real boyfriend through.

His name was Bobby Shelbourne. We’d been in every class together since sixth grade, but hadn’t started dating until the beginning of tenth. He’d asked me to the Homecoming dance. Brian’s family had come for Christmas that year, and Brian had tagged along. 

Christmas of ‘68 was quite possibly the most awkward Christmas I’d ever had the displeasure of experiencing. Between the interrogation, the snide comments, and the nasty looks, I was ready to strangle Brian within the first hour of he and Bobby meeting. But the straw that broke the camel’s back was when Brian had pulled me aside and told me that I could do better and I should break up with Bobby. I’d used a few choice expletives and told Brian to shut up, and then didn’t speak to him until his family got back to England. 

He’d written me a letter apologizing. I’d written him back forgiving him, but my pride kept me from telling him that Bobby was cheating on me with another girl. Last I heard, they’re already on child number three. 

And Freddie is also not just one of Brian’s friends, but also a business partner. Yes, Brian has the talent to pursue a solo music career, and has his degrees, but he  _ loves _ being in Queen. I would never want anything to come between he and Freddie, least of all me. If Freddie and I ended badly, Brian would undoubtedly choose me. I refuse to be the reason that Queen loses either it’s phenomenal lead singer or it’s lead guitarist. They just wouldn’t be Queen without each other. 

_ But you and Freddie can’t hide forever. So  _ **_you_ ** _ have to choose between Brian and Freddie, _ I think. Just the suggestion leaves my stomach turning. 

I sigh, finishing up the gravy and pulling the roast and vegetables from the oven. 

“Food’s done,” I call, my voice shakier than I’d like. I can hear shuffling before the four wander in, all eyeing the food. Brian nods approvingly when he sees his dinner, nudging my hip with his. 

“Smells good, Dais,” he offers, grabbing plates and doling them out. I roll my eyes at him, waving my hand nonchalantly.

“It’s sprouts and potatoes. Anyone can do that.”

Roger snorts, dishing up roast. 

“Freddie, wanna tell darling Daisy here about the curried hasselback potato disaster of 1972?” 

I cringe playfully when I see the look Freddie gives Roger, something between a glare and shut-up-or-I’ll-shove-your-drumsticks-up-your-ass.

“I never knew a potato could have flames so big,” Roger muses, pouring gravy over his food. “Apparently their water content isn’t high enough to keep them from looking like detonated hand grenades when left in the oven for - how long was it, Fred? Four hours?”

“I was a bit distracted by you destroying our couch during sexual intercourse at the time,  _ Roger _ ,” Freddie snaps, shoving him out of the way to fill his own plate. Roger chuckles, nudging me with his shoulder.

“It was worth it, though.”

I laugh when he wiggles his eyebrows, then look apologetically at Freddie when he glances at me. We continue the banter before moving out of the kitchen, then take up various spots around the room to eat. As I settle on the floor at Roger's feet, I catch Freddie's eye and he smiles gently at me. I return it, feeling a knot return to my stomach. 

_ What the hell am I going to do? _

Two hours later we've finished going through the schedule for the tour. I've cleaned up dinner.  Our boarding passes are in my bag, since it's decided that I'm the most “responsible” one (I glared at Brian while he laughed at that). My makeup bag is in order, including several new eyeshadow palettes and pressed powders. 

“Okay, I'm headed home. I'll see you all tomorrow,” John says, shrugging on his jacket and walking over to the door. Roger does the same, smirking. 

“I've got a date,” he boasts, winking at me. I roll my eyes, grinning. 

“Yes, Roger, you don't need to inform us every time you plan on getting laid,” Brian scolds. I watch as Roger and John leave, then look awkwardly between Brian and Freddie. The latter licks his lips before looking at Brian. 

“Speaking of getting laid, are you going to see Chrissy before we leave?”

I know exactly what Freddie's motivation is when I see him glance at me, and I bite my lip. Knowing I'm just digging myself a deeper hole, I look at Brian, too. 

“Like I said, Daisy's welcome at my place any time,” he continues, and I see Brian glance at me. I smile, nodding. 

“Call her, Bri. I'll stay the night at Freddie's.”

Brian starts to give me a half hearted apology, but I wave him off. 

“Freddie and I will just play with makeup all night or something. Call your girl,” I say sternly. I walk over and grab one of my two bags, knowing I have a change of clothes in it, and slip on my shoes. 

“I'll be back by eleven so I can get the rest of my stuff and make the flight.”

Brian nods, giving me a kiss on the cheek. 

“Thanks, Dais. You're the best fake sister a guy could have,” he says. I smile up at him, pinching his cheek. 

“No worries, Bri. Just remember: wrap it before you tap it.”

Brian gags, prompting Freddie and I to laugh. We bid Brian goodbye and head out into the cool night.

* * *

 

The trip to Freddie's flat is relatively quiet, but we end up walking hand-in-hand from the underground station to his flat. He drops my hand as he unlocks his door, then holds it open for me. He grins when I thank him. 

I ascend the stairs into the main room and can't help but gasp. On the coffee table sits a small bunch of sunflowers in a glass vase. Freddie comes up behind me, playing with his keys nervously. 

“I saw them this morning and thought of you,” he says. I drop my bag and throw my arms around his shoulders. 

“I love them, Freddie,” I whisper, pressing kisses to his neck. His arms wind around my waist and he pulls me close, pressing his nose into my hair. 

“I'm glad,” he says. We both pull back at the same time, just enough to press our mouths together. The kiss starts gentle but quickly grows in intensity. Freddie's tongue dips into my mouth and I suck on it, causing him to moan and tug my hips closer to his. I pull away, looking up into his eyes. 

“I'm ready,” I whisper. Butterflies beat against my chest as soon as the words are out, my palms go sweaty, and I feel a heat between my legs that's completely different from any other time I've been with Freddie. 

He licks his lips, his eyes flashing between my own and my lips. 

“You're sure?” he asks, his voice soft. I can feel his fingers tighten where they're resting on my waist and I nod. 

Freddie's eyes darken and he leans forward, pressing a gentle kiss to my lips before pulling away. 

“Come, darling,” he says softly. He takes my hand and leads me to his bedroom. Just like our first night together, he walks over to turn on the lamp and I drop down onto the edge of the bed. When he turns back to me I gaze up at him, his hand coming to rest gently on my cheek. I turn my head and press a kiss to the base of his thumb. 

“Stand up, love,” he says, and I do. His mouth finds mine in another kiss as he reaches for the hem of my shirt. I let him pull it over my head, leaning back enough that he can pull it off and toss it to the side. I'd forgone a bra and my nipples peak in the cold air. 

“You're so beautiful,” he murmurs, his fingertips tracing over my chest. His movements are different from how they've been up until now; while he's always been gentle with me, there's always been a feeling of urgency behind his touches. But now he's taking his time, his eyes following the journey of his fingers across my skin. 

I arch into his touch, my hands falling to his waist and slipping under his shirt. His skin is warm and his lips twitch as I mimic him and run my fingers lightly over his skin. 

“Lay down, sweetheart,” he says, brushing his thumb over my nipple before I sink back down onto the bed. His nimble fingers go to the waistband of my jeans and he tucks his fingers under it, pulling gently. I lift my hips and let him pull them off, spreading my legs once they're pulled off. 

Freddie's eyes fall between my legs as he sinks down to his knees on the carpet. He leans in and presses a line of kisses up my inner thigh, his hands wrapping around my calves to pull my legs wider. I let him, lowering a hand to run through his hair. His eyes lift to mine and he smiles while moving over my damp underwear to press kisses down the inside of my left thigh. 

“Tease,” I chide, letting out a breathy laugh as he bites my thigh gently. 

“Oh, so this is what you want?” he counters before pressing his tongue directly to my clit. I gasp, tightening my fingers in his hair and rolling my hips. He chuckles, reaching up to tug my panties off. 

I let out a high pitched whine when his mouth closes over my cunt. He licks a broad stripe from my entrance to my clit, then flicks his tongue quickly over it. 

“Just like that, Freddie,” I breathe, closing my eyes and pressing my head back into the bed. He raises a hand up to squeeze at my breast, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger as he continues to lap at my cunt. It doesn't take me long to feel that familiar flood of warmth and I arch my back.

“Freddie, I'm gonna come,” I whine, rolling my hips. Both hands are in his hair now and he moans as I tighten my fingers. He wraps his lips around his my clit and sucks, tipping me over the edge. 

He licks me through it, his fingers still squeezing at my breast. 

“That will  _ never _ get old,” he murmurs against my skin. I chuckle, brushing his fringe off of his forehead. We simply hold eye contact for a moment, both breathing heavily, before I suddenly  _ need  _ to feel him inside me. 

“Freddie…” I murmur, moving to sit up. He pulls back and rises, pulling his shirt over his head. I reach for the waist of his trousers, pulling the button open and lowering the zipper. As always, his trousers are tight and his hard cock is pressed firmly between them and his hip. I lean forward and lick at the base of it, kissing it before pushing his trousers down. 

Once he's managed to push them away and has kicked them off, he leans down and gives me a gentle but firm kiss. 

“Condom?” I ask, nudging Freddie's nose with my own. He nods, leaning over to open the drawer of his bedside table. He pulls out a condom and small bottle of lube, dropping the latter on the bed while I pull the former out of his hand. 

His eyes fall to my hands as I rip the package open and reach for the lube. I glance up at his face when I lean in and wrap my lips around the head of his cock. I suck lightly, bobbing up and down a few times before pulling away. 

I open the lube and pour a bit on his cock, which he spreads around with his hand. I look back up at him and lay one last kitten lick to the tip of his cock before I roll the condom over it. He swipes his hand over it once it’s on, spreading the rest of the lube over it. I slowly move back on the bed and lie back, letting my legs fall open.

“So pretty,” Freddie murmurs, climbing between my legs. He leans in for a kiss as he drapes his body over mine, my legs immediately going around his hips. I reach down with one hand, drawing a moan from him as I close my fist around his cock, and swirl the tip around my still-slick pussy. I grin against his lips as I position him at my entrance, and he pulls away to look me in the eye.

“You’re  _ sure _ you want this?” he asks hesitantly. I can hear the concern in his voice and I feel a strange tug in my chest. I nod once, biting my lip.

“Yes, Freddie, I want this,” I answer. It’s all he needs to begin pushing into me, filling me slowly. It’s an odd feeling after so long, but it’s not bad. It only takes a few seconds for him to push in to the hilt, and he pauses again, looking at me closely.

“Darling, if you want me to stop-”

“Freddie, make love to me already, will you?” 

The laugh that escapes him is both relieved and breathless, but he complies, gently pulling back before rocking forward again. After only a few thrusts we’re both moaning softly, our mouths occasionally meeting in kisses but mainly just brushing each other. 

After a few minutes, Freddie’s hips pick up speed. Our moans become louder, my legs now wrapped firmly around his hips as he drives into me. His fringe sticks to his forehead, our bodies slick with sweat as we’re driven closer and closer to orgasm. 

“I’m close, Freddie,” I pant, whimpering when he angles his hips so that he manages to hit my sweet spot dead on. Freddie nods, his nose brushing mine.

“So am I, darling… let me feel you…”

Then, as if I can’t resist doing as he asks, I come. It rolls over me in warm waves, making me arch my back as I pulse around Freddie. He moans softly, his hips stuttering as he pushes deeper inside of me. His lips meet mine as he thrusts two, three more times. Then they still and he pulls back.

“That was…”

“I know,” I agree, reaching up to push his hair off of his sweaty forehead. He smiles down at me, dropping another kiss to my mouth before reaching down to pull out of me. He rolls to the side and sits up, getting out of the bed and going into the bathroom. I prop myself up on my elbows and look at him when he emerges a few moments later, taking his offered hand so he can pull me out of bed. 

“Hi,” I breathe, smiling up at him. He grins back at me and presses a kiss to my nose. 

“Why, hello there, gorgeous,” he answers. We stand and hold each other for a moment before I speak.

“So, that took up thirty minutes of the evening. What are we going to do for the rest of the night?”

Freddie laughs, looking down at me. 

“Well, that depends. What do you have in mind, darling?”

I peer up at him a moment, almost afraid to ask. 

"Well, you could always play for me?” 

Freddie looks down at me for a moment before breaking into a wide grin. 

“Yes! Come on, I’ll teach you a little something,” he says enthusiastically. I laugh as he grabs my hand and starts leading me out to the living room.

“Freddie, we’re both naked,” I point out. He only raises an eyebrow at me as if to say  _ So? _ , and I roll my eyes.

“Fine, just let me go get cleaned up a little first. I’ll meet you out there,” I concede. He drops my hand and I head into the bathroom, doing just that. When I come out I can hear a slow tune being played from the living room. 

I pad to the end of the hall and stand next to the piano, watching as Freddie's fingers drift across the keys, continuing the slightly haunting tune. He stops, not looking at me, keeping his eyes on the keys. 

“What is it?” I ask, a little concerned at the look on his face. He looks up at me shyly, his cheeks pink. 

“Nothing, just… I don't want to- nevermind,” he says, shaking his head. I drop down onto the bench next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

“You can talk to me, Freddie, you know that,” I say. I lean over to kiss his shoulder and rest my chin on it. He nods, one hand coming to rest on my thigh. I lace the fingers of my free hand with his and lean back a little. 

“Is it about the conversation we had at the hotel? Before drunk Scrabble?”

I feel Freddie's hand tense a little and hope I haven't scared him off. I squeeze his hand and he smiles, giving me some relief. 

“Freddie-”

“What if I’m not good enough for you?”

The question takes me by surprise, shocking me into stunned silence.

“Freddie, why in the world would you not be good enough for me?” I ask, fighting back a lump in my throat. I start to think that I’m not the only one with doubts, and in the same moment realize that I want this more than anything else, fears be damned. I want Freddie. Freddie, who’s crumbling in front of my eyes, struggling with an internal battle that I wish I could fight for him.

"What if I - if the need to be with - what if I hurt you and you can’t ever forgive me?”

The words are choked and unsteady, and I can see tears in his eyes. I feel my own eyes begin to fill with tears and I gently reach up and cup his cheek.

“Freddie, look at me,” I urge softly, my voice gentle. He turns his face to mine after a moment, his lip quivering. A single tear falls and I wipe it away with my thumb.

“I know that this thing between us is brand new, and it’s scary as hell, but I can feel that it’s  _ right _ ,” I say. Freddie nods softly, licking his lips. 

“I know that it’s hard to trust anyone, even yourself, with something as complicated as love, but I promise you that if you ever need more,  _ I’ll be there _ ,” I continue, trying to sound stern but soft. “If you need to explore that part of yourself, or want to talk about it, or just need to vent, I’m here for you. And, in the meantime, I’m going to stay right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

By the time I’m done more tears have fallen, and not just Freddie’s. He surges forward and presses a firm kiss to my mouth, his hand tangling in my hair at the back of my head. When he pulls away he rests his forehead against mine. We stay like that for a moment, sharing air and warmth, just being present with each other. 

Finally Freddie pulls away, wiping at his face and setting his hands back down on the keys. 

“I was going to play you something, wasn’t I?” he says, playing a quick scale. I laugh, nodding, and he raises an eyebrow at me.

“Any requests?”

I ponder it for a moment, thinking back to the song he was playing when I walked in.

“What about whatever it was you were playing when I walked in?” I suggest. He bites his lip.

“That one is still under construction,” he says slowly, but I can tell there’s something he isn’t telling me. I raise my eyebrow and he caves, smiling sheepishly.

“It’s sort of something I had in the works for you, actually.”

I’m taken aback, my face flushing.

“You wrote me a song?” I ask softly. Freddie blushes, looking at the keys.

“I mean, it’s not very long and I’m not sure you’ll like it, but… yeah?”

I find myself smiling so wide that it hurts and I can’t help but giggle a little.

“No one’s ever written me a song before,” I say, biting my lip.Freddie grins back at me before kissing my nose.

“Well, now I have. Do you want to hear it?”

I nod quickly, straightening up. He starts playing again, his voice soft as he begins singing.

_ I live my life for you… think all my thoughts with you and only you…. _

I listen closely as he continues, my smile growing wider as the song goes on. By the time he’s finished my cheeks hurt and I’m feeling lighter than air. He looks over at me hesitantly, biting his lip.

“Do you like it?” he asks timidly. I nod quickly, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“I love it, darling,” I say, stealing a kiss to his mouth when he turns his head. He smiles at me, nudging my nose with his. 

“Want to learn how to play it?”

I nod, smiling at him. He gently takes my hands, placing them on the keys.

“Alright, so we’ll start with the opening,” he says, gently guiding me. As he continues I can’t help but smile, thinking just for a moment that, if the rest of my life was spent like this, I’d die happy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song that Freddie "wrote" for Daisy is "In the Lap of the Gods".


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another disclaimer for anyone who is a fan/supporter of Mary Austin: You may not appreciate this chapter. For those who are indifferent/don't support her, enjoy!

****

**22 April 1974 | St. Bernard Parish Civic Auditorium | New Orleans, LA, USA**  

“Make me look beautiful, Daisy!”

I raise an eyebrow at Roger as he flops down into the chair in front of me. He dramatically shakes his fringe out of his face and peers up at me.

“We don't have enough time for her to give you a whole new face, Rog,” Freddie calls from the other side of the room. I look over to where he's flat ironing his hair and smile at him. He winks back and I stick my tongue out at him.

“Shut up,” Roger snaps back, flipping Freddie off over his shoulder. I roll my eyes, digging around in my bag for the eyeshadow palette I'd chosen specifically for Roger’s blue eyes. He watches me closely as I select a brush and tap it into a deep copper color.

“So, are you glad to be home?” he asks, closing his eyes so I can begin patting the color on his lids.

I ponder the question for a moment, thinking about the past six days. We've been going nonstop, a new city and show each day since the 16th, and I'm absolutely exhausted.

But it's nice to be back where things are familiar. I was overjoyed when the first food stop after Denver was a McDonald's, drawing stares from the roadies and _Mott the Hoople_ members, and snickers from the boys. I'd ignored them all as I enjoyed my Big Mac, fries, and strawberry milkshake.

On the other hand, though, there have been some negatives being back home; mostly, I don't really consider the US my home anymore. I've been in London long enough that it's more my home than here. I've been reminded of this several times, funny enough, when Americans have commented on my “terrible accent” and told me that it's rude to mock them. It was funny at first, but by the time the third waitress gave me an annoyed look, I’d started missing London.

“It’s okay,” I finally answer, moving to Roger’s other eye. “I miss London a little.”

Roger opens his eyes once I’m done, surveying me. He finally shrugs, then looks at his own reflection.

“I’m beautiful!” he cries dramatically. I see Freddie jump out of the corner of my eye and start laughing, turning to him just as he takes off the slipper he’s wearing and heaves it at Roger. Roger expertly dodges it and rises, kissing my cheek.

“Wait, Roger, I’m not done-” I begin, but he waves me off.

“My face is behind a drum set most of the show anyways, Pidge. I just wanted to spend a little time talking to my favorite member of the band.”

I give him a look, watching as he picks up Freddie’s slipper.

“You do realize I’m not _actually_ a member of the band, right?”

Roger shrugs, walking away.

“May as well be,” he replies over his shoulder. I smile, my heart feeling full. I keep an eye on Roger as he walks up behind Freddie, catching his eye in the mirror.

“Hey, Freddie, what’s this?” he asks. Before Freddie can answer, though, Roger smacks him lightly on the cheek with the slipper before tearing out of the room, cackling loudly. Freddie yells obscenities at his back, rolling his eyes once he’s gone. He then glares at me as I giggle.

“You’re no help at all,” he scolds, going back to his hair. He finishes his fringe and sets the flat iron down as I walk up behind him.

“I’m sorry, love,” I offer softly. I pick up the brush on the table and begin running it through his hair, pulling a soft hum from him. He watches me in the mirror as I fix a section at the back of his head that he’d missed, his gaze making heat pool in my belly.

“Stop looking at me like that,” I warn softly, my eyes instinctively flashing to the door. We’d almost been caught by Brian in the dressing room two days ago and I’m still a little jumpy. When I turn back to look at Freddie, though, he’s still watching me closely.

“Like what?” he asks innocently. I raise an eyebrow, brushing through his hair one last time before I decide I’m satisfied.

“Like you’ve seen me naked,” I snap. I lean around him to put the brush and iron back down and he lifts a hand to cup my cheek.

“But I _have_ seen you naked, dearest, and it’s a sight I won’t soon forget.”

I turn to look at him, raising an eyebrow. When he leans in to steal a kiss I let him.

“You guys really suck at hiding that you’re banging,” Roger suddenly says. Freddie and I both jump, then turn to glare at him.

“Fuck off, Rog,” Freddie says, standing. He’s been cross with Roger ever since I told him that Roger had found my underwear and figured us out. Then I’d started a mini-spat when I pointed out that Freddie’s the one who didn’t make sure my panties were out of sight. He countered and said they should have been on my ass… Long story short, we decided to take equal blame, but Freddie told me he’d still be annoyed with Roger.

Fucking drama queen.

* * *

  **24 April 1974 | Blue Bayou Motel | New Orleans, LA, USA**

A knock on the door wakes me, pulling me from a deep sleep. I groan and roll over, looking at the clock next to the bed. 10:14. I manage to do some simple math and decide that 4 hours of sleep is not enough. Especially after the amount that I drank last night.

A second knock pulls me back to wakefulness and I realize I've dozed off again. I fling back the covers, grabbing a blanket to wrap around myself as I stand. When I reach the door and crack it open, I'm surprised to see Freddie standing there. He's wearing track shorts and a plain t-shirt, his feet bare and hair a mess.

“Freddie? What are you doing?” I murmur, opening the door wider so that he can step in. He leans in and gives me a deep kiss as soon as it's closed.

“I missed you,” he whines softly, grabbing my hand and pulling me back to the bed. I'm too tired to fight him when he pulls the blanket off of my shoulders and climbs into the bed. He lays to one side and looks up at me expectantly.

“Freddie, what if Brian shows up?” I ask, torn between not wanting Brian to find out and the desire to curl up next to Freddie and sleep for a solid eight hours. Freddie shrugs, holding an arm out.

“I'll say I got confused and thought this was my room.”

I raise an eyebrow at him.

“Freddie, Brian's not an idiot. If he catches you in here he's going to know something's up.”

Freddie just looks at me for a moment before sitting up. There's a slight scowl on his face and I realize too late that all of the close calls have been planned on his part.

“Would it really be _so terrible_ if he found out, Daisy?” he asks, his voice sour. I consider him for a moment, thinking of my internal battle in Brian's kitchen.

“Freddie, I just… what happens if we don't…” I trail off, my brain feeling very full. My heart sinks when I see his jaw set and his eyes narrow.

“What if we don't what, Daisy? What if we don't work out? What happened to ‘this feels right’?” he says. His voice is cold and I feel the sharp tug of guilt. I sink down onto the bed, my gaze falling to the sheets.

“Freddie, I still feel like this is right, but-”

“But _what_ ? If you feel like this is right, then you feel like we _could_ make it, like this _could_ be forever,” he says, his voice rising. “And if this _does_ turn into forever, how long are you suggesting we keep it from Brian? Until the end of the week? The tour? The year? Would we get married in private? Live in separate flats? Hide our children? Never seem like more than friends to protect _Brian_?”

Freddie's words sting, mostly because they're true. The idea of not telling Brian is unsustainable. Especially if I don't want things with Freddie to end in flames. I have to tell Brian, I conclude, and I have to do it soon. I made an adult decision and I have to deal with it like an adult.

“You're right, Freddie,” I whisper, looking up at him. His face is still hard, his brows drawn together in annoyance. “I'll tell him today, alright? After we all get some sleep?”

Freddie considers it for a moment and then nods, laying back down. He looks at me with a raised eyebrow, holding out his arm again.

“Well, come here,” he says plainly, a small smile twitching to his lips. I return it, crawling over to curl up beside him. His fingers automatically go to my hair, massaging my scalp. Just as I'm dozing off again a painful thought crosses my mind.

“Freddie,” I suddenly say groggily, turning my head to look up at him. “You didn't think that I was embarrassed to be with you, did you?”

His eyes open slowly and he peers at me for a moment.

“A little, at first,” he replies, playing with my hair.

“Why only at first?” I ask, knitting my brows. He watches his fingers in my hair a moment before answering.

“What you said to me the first time that we actually slept together, about being there for me no matter what...” he begins slowly. He clears his throat and licks his lips, and I can tell he’s choosing his words carefully. “You actually care. Those things you said… Mary never said things like that.”

My chest tightens at the mention of her name. She’s never come up in conversation before, not more than the mention of her in the garden at the hotel in Leeds.

“What....” I begin, but my voice gets caught in my throat. So I shake my head. “Nevermind.”

Freddie’s free hand comes up to cup my cheek and he rolls so that he’s facing me.

“You can ask about her, Daisy.”

I’m surprised by his ability to seemingly read my mind. He smiles softly at me, running his finger tips over my shoulder and down my arm.

“She tried to change me,” he confesses softly. I feel a tug of intense affection in my chest, coupled with an intense sadness. “I think she wanted me to fit in her box. She didn’t understand when I told her that I’m bisexual. She flat out told me that I’m gay. After that I just… couldn’t talk to her about it. Then I found I couldn’t talk to her about _anything_ and what kind of relationship is that?”

His eyes finally meet mine and I can see the sadness in them. I reach up to cup his cheek and kiss him. His hand circles my wrist when we pull away and he presses a kiss to my palm.

“But,” he continues, his voice brighter. “Then you came along, and I told you and you didn’t try to change me, you just let me be me, and you’re just so… I don’t even know how to say it.”

I smile softly at him, rubbing his cheek with my thumb.

“I would never try to change you, Freddie,” I whisper. “You’re perfect just the way you are.”

He grins at me, leaning forward to press another kiss to my mouth before snuggling closer to me. I nudge my head under his chin and sigh, finally resigning myself to sleep.

* * *

It’s past two when Freddie and I finally wake up. Freddie offers to come talk to Brian with me while I dress and I agree, mainly because I don’t want to do this alone. He nods, telling me that he’ll meet me back here in five minutes. Once he’s gone I feel restless, tidying the bed, folding my clothes, anything to distract me from the nerves beating against the inside of my chest. Finally, after what seems like an hour, there’s a knock at the door. I cross the room and open it, expecting Freddie. My mouth goes dry when I see it’s Brian.

“Hey, Daisy, can I come in?” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck. I wonder for a moment why _he_ looks so awkward, but let him in. He only takes a few steps into the room before turning and looking at me.

“I have to ask you something and I need for you to not be upset, okay?” he says, his voice shaking and nervous. I try to push down my own nerves, the curiosity from this unexpected conversation overtaking it for a moment.

“Okay…” I say slowly, knitting my brows. He clears his throat, looking down and avoiding my gaze.

“Well, it’s just… I was in the hall a few minutes ago and I could swear… Freddie came out of your room. But that’s silly, isn’t it?”

Brian’s eyes finally meet mine as he lets out a dry laugh. It dies in his throat when he sees I’m not laughing and I realize my cheeks are hot. I open my mouth a few times, trying unsuccessfully to respond, but nothing comes out. Then, much to my dismay, there’s a knock on the door that I _know_ must be Freddie. Before I can tell him not to, Brian turns and opens the door.

“Freddie? What are you -”

Brian pauses, his eyes going wide as he turns to look at me. He doesn’t say anything, but he really doesn’t need to. His face says it all.

“How long?” he asks. His voice is strange, and I can’t tell exactly how he feels. My cheeks burn even hotter and I lick my lips.

“Since the show at the Rainbow,” Freddie answers for me, his eyes flicking to mine. I hope he can see the gratitude in my eyes.

“And you two have… y’know… been…?” Brian stammers, gesturing between the two of us. I roll my eyes, some of the heat leaving my cheeks.

“Yes, Brian,” I answer, finally finding that I’m able to move. I take a step closer to Freddie, torn between wanting to have him hold me and wanting to keep my distance until I know how Brian feels. It doesn't take long for the latter to happen.

Brian looks between us again, looking like he wants to say something, but then shrugs.

“Alright,” he says. I stare at him, my mouth falling open. But Freddie looks triumphant.

“Good. Now that we've settled that, can -”

“ _‘Alright_ ’?” I interrupt, raising an eyebrow. “What happened to ‘if I catch any of you in bed with her, I'll kill you’?”

Freddie gapes at me, clearly thinking I'm about to ruin Brian's obvious blessing. Brian rolls his eyes and waves his hand.

“I honestly just said that so Roger wouldn't try to shag you,” he says sheepishly, grinning at me. “Wait, you thought I’d be mad about you guys?”

I stare at him, looking to Freddie for help. He just smirks at me.

“Well… yeah,” I answer, defeated. Brian smiles, obviously entertained by my anxiety, and I shove his shoulder. “Shut up, asshole.”

Brian chuckles, looking to a grinning Freddie. Brian slings an arm around Freddie’s shoulders, tugging him into his side.

“I’m really happy for you, Fred,” he says, looking down at him. “But just remember that, if you hurt her, I have guitar strings thin enough to slice your throat and enough knowledge about chemistry that they’d never know it was me.”

Brian’s wide smile stays in place even as Freddie’s slips away. If I didn’t feel like hitting Brian, I probably would have laughed at how comical it was to watch. Brian and Freddie both look at me at the same time, Freddie silently begging for help as Brian raises his eyebrows.

“So, want to go grab some lunch?”

* * *

**1 May 1974 | Farm Arena | Harrisburg, PA, USA**

“Freddie, where are we going?” I hiss, glancing around as he pulls me down the hall. He only shoots me a look, smiling mischievously as he reaches a door and pulls it open. He yanks me inside and I raise an eyebrow.

“A storage closet? Really, Freddie?”

He shrugs one shoulder, grabbing my waist and pinning me to the nearest wall. He smirks down at me, nuzzling my nose with the tip of his.

“I can’t wait until after the show,” he murmurs, his hand running up between my thighs. “I have to have you now.”

I lean into the kiss, moaning freely when Freddie’s long fingers reach my bare cunt. He pulls away with a gasp.

“No panties?” he asks softly, using his fore and ring fingers to spread my lips. “Naughty, naughty.”

I shrug, rolling my hips against his hand.

“I was thinking about flashing you during the show, just to see if you’d keep tempo.”

He lets out a little giggle and bites his bottom lip as his middle finger finds my entrance. I want to urge him on but he pulls away, kissing me briefly before dropping to his knees. I look at him quizzically and he peers up at me from behind his lashes.

“You’re not nearly wet enough, dear,” he murmurs, pushing my skirt up and tugging on the back of my knee. I prop it up on his shoulder and brush his fringe back.

“Just don’t fuck up your makeup, I won’t have time to fix it,” I warn, letting out a low moan when the tip of his tongue meets my clit. My head falls back against the wall and I squeeze my eyes shut when he starts to suck on it, my hand tangling in his hair.

“God, your mouth feels so good, Freddie,” I moan, looking down at him. He peers up at me again, flattening his tongue as he tilts his head up and down to rub my clit with it. I let out a gasping moan, brushing his hair back. I’m suddenly struck with overwhelming awe and -

“You’re so beautiful, do you know that?”

The words leave my mouth in a whisper, but I know by the way Freddie’s tongue stutters and his hand tightens on the back of my thigh that he hears me. I bite my lip, smiling.

“Do you like when I say things like that?” I ask, combing my fingers through his hair. He moans, his eyes fluttering closed. I take it as a silent ‘yes’ and grin. Freddie continues to lick and suck at my clit, his fingers rising to press into me slowly. He slides two in, fucking me slowly with them, causing me to gently tug on his hair. He moans, the vibrations making my hips buck.

“Yes, just like that,” I moan, grinding slightly against his face. His fingers speed up, his front teeth scraping slightly against my clit. I tighten my fist in his hair, my hips moving steadily now, and he lets out another whining moan. Combined with the suction on my clit and Freddie’s fingers pumping into me, it’s enough to tip me over the edge and I come. He licks me through it gently, pressing a final kiss to my clit before standing. He lifts his fingers to his lips to lick them clean, but I grab his hand and pull it to my own mouth. Freddie’s eyes lock onto his fingers as I slide them into my mouth, swallowing them down to the knuckle.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, his hips jumping forward as I slide my tongue between his fingers. I pull them from my mouth and lick my lips.

“I think I’m wet enough now,” I say softly, my hands finding their way to his belt buckle. I pull it open quickly, reaching in to wrap my fist around his cock. I don’t feel anything beneath his trousers and I smirk up at him.

“You’re not wearing any underwear either, Mr. Mercury,” I scold, squeezing his hot length in my hand. His hips roll forward and I see him blush a bit.

“Such a bad boy,” I whisper against his lips. I feel his cock twitch in my hand and bite my lip.

“Please,” he whispers, and I know what he’s asking for. I nod slightly and pull him from his trousers, pumping him a few times before lifting my knee to his hip and lining him up at my entrance. He hooks a hand under my knee and holds it to his side as he slowly presses forward, filling me with a moan.

“Oh, god,” I whine, my head falling back against the wall behind me again. Freddie starts rolling his hips and nips at my neck, panting muggy breath across the skin. I grasp at his shoulders, pulling him as close as possible. He lifts his head, leaning in to kiss me deeply.

His tongue has just slid between my lips when the door suddenly flies open, light from the hall spilling into the small room. I let out a gasp and Freddie yells a quick “Fuck off!”, turning us to hide our bodies. I can’t see anything more than an outline of the person, but I don’t need to. I’d know that hair anywhere.

“Brian, this isn’t what it looks like,” I say quickly, tugging my skirt down as Freddie zips his trousers. He looks at me with wide eyes before turning to Brian.

“Oh, good,” Brian says, his voice sharp with sarcasm. “‘Cause it looks like you’re fucking in a storage closet. So glad that’s not the case.”

I just stare at him, waiting for him to explode, but he never does. Instead, he begins to laugh. Loud, peeling laughter that makes Freddie and I look at eachother with raised eyebrows. I take a step towards him and that’s when I realize it: Brian May is completely and utterly shitfaced.

“Oh, God,” I groan, rolling my eyes. “Brian, you’re drunk.”

Brian’s laughter dies down enough for him to look at me, a small hiccup leaving his upturned lips.

“Oh, most definitely,” he says, leaning on the door jamb. “Joe Perry - y’know, Aerosmith - had some, some Daniel Jacks - no, _Jack Daniels_ , that’s the stuff - and…” he makes a gesture like he’s drinking from a bottle and winks at me.

Freddie comes up beside me, his shoulder touching mine.

“Look Bri, about this-” he begins, but Brian waves him off.

“Nah,” he says, drawing out the ‘ah’ and waving him off. “Don’ worry ‘bout it, Freds. If we’re being tooth - truthful, here, ‘m kinda jealous. I wish Chrissy was here so I could pin her to a wall in a storage closet.”

I stare at Brian for a moment before grimacing and glancing at Freddie, who’s looking just as dumbfounded as I feel. Neither of us says anything and Brian obviously takes that as an opportunity to come over and place his hands on Freddie’s shoulders, staring down at him.

“Freddie, I’m really glad you’re with Daisy. And not jus’ ‘cause you deserve a good shag,” Brian winks at me and I gag, hitting his shoulder. “Jus’ remember, she’s like my b-baby sister and I’ll castrate you if you hurt her..”

Freddie’s eyes are wide and he nods slowly, looking back over at me. Brian does the same, grinning down at me. He removes his hands from Fred’s shoulders and reaches over to pull me into a hug. I can smell the liquor on him.

“Love you, Dais,” he slurs, pressing a sloppy kiss to the crown of my head. I can’t help but sigh and chuckle, shaking my head.

“I love you, too, Bri,” I answer. I manage to pull back enough that I can place my hands on his skinny waist, turning him so I can start leading him back to the dressing room. Freddie follows, gently closing the door behind him. We make it a few meters before Brian suddenly puts more weight on me, tugging me close to his side.

“Y’know, i’s a really good thing you an’ Fred are together,” Brian muses out loud, drumming his fingertips lightly against my shoulder. I hum, doing my best to not fall over under Brian’s weight as I continue to guide him. He doesn’t seem to notice and continues. “He’s happier with someone. ‘M glad it’s you.”

I glance over at Freddie, who’s walking on Brian’s other side, and see he’s grinning a little. Brian follows my line of sight and throws his other arm over Freddie’s shoulders.

“Heya, Fred,” he slurs, grinning down at Freddie. Freddie rolls his eyes and we continue guiding Brian down the hall until we reach the dressing room. Once we get there, Brian suddenly stops dead, his eyes going wide.

“I don’t remember how to play guitar,” he cries, looking horrified. I roll my eyes: this is a regular issue when Brian gets too drunk. He becomes convinced he doesn’t remember how to play guitar until he actually starts playing. Clearly knowing this, Roger comes over and hands him the Red Special.

“Shut up and play it, ya sod.”

* * *

**11 May 1974 | Uris Theater | New York, NY, USA**

“So, how was the view?”

I grin at the sound tech, Bob, and nod.

“It was great, thanks,” I answer, looking out over the roaring crowd. The band has just finished yet another amazing concert, their sixth here in New York City. We’ve been here nearly a week, taking in the sights of the city when the band isn’t playing. Being in midtown-Manhattan definitely has its perks. Freddie and I have also been sharing a hotel room since Brian, Roger, and Deacy all offered to share. Brian had been a little hesitant, but he relented when I pulled the puppy eyes.

To be honest, I’ve been a little worried about Brian lately. He’s been feeling off, complaining of stomach aches and looking more pale than normal. Just this morning I watched his hand tremble as he drank his morning tea. He’d tried to reassure me that it was just him needing a break, but I had a bad feeling.

Tonight I’d been invited to sit in the sound box for the show, to see it more from the perspective of a fan. I’d accepted and had been escorted out once the boys’ makeup was done. As such, I’d dressed a bit nicer tonight, wearing black hotpants and a silver sequined racerback. I’d gone with my favorite pair of boots and wore my hair natural, curls framing my face. Large silver hoop earrings and bangles on my wrists (stolen from Freddie) completed the outfit, and I’d done my makeup. I’d had to keep slapping Freddie’s hand away while doing his makeup since it kept trying to wander up the back of my thigh.

“Want me to walk you back?” Bob offers, looking around at the insanity of the crowd. I shake my head, smiling at him.

“I’m good, thanks though.”

I manage to push my way through the crowd and make it over to the side of the stage, where I flash the backstage pass I’d been given to the security guard. He waves me through, an odd look on his face.

“Be careful headed back, ma’am,” he says, and I give him a quizzical look. “The guitarist collapsed. They’ve called for an ambulance, but everyone’s pretty shaken up.”

It feels like my stomach is clamped in a vice and I feel my face fall. I break into a full run, pushing past people, weaving around equipment. I can see a group of people standing in a back corner, Deacy at the edge with his hand over his mouth. I trip over a cord, toppling to my hands and knees before quickly pushing myself up and taking off again.

“Move, move!” I cry, shoving my way to the center of the circle. Roger and Freddie are crouched on the ground over Brian, who’s lying on his back. His head is pillowed on Roger’s jacket, and his face is so pale it looks almost grey.

“Brian,” I breathe, dropping to my knees and taking his hand. I press a palm to his forehead and feel that he’s got a fever. His eyes flutter a bit before opening and landing on me. He moves to sit up but Freddie puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Stay there, Bri. They’ve called to take you to hospital,” he says, his voice shaking. He meets my eyes and I can see his are red. He looks terrified.

“No hospital,” Brian murmurs. “M’fine.”

“You are _not_ fine,” I say, my voice much quieter than I anticipate. Brian looks at me and I feel my stomach turn when I see that there’s no fight in his eyes. He squeezes my hand a little and nods, barely.

After what seems like an eternity the paramedics arrive. They load Brian onto a stretcher as I stand between Roger and Freddie. Deacy’s hand is on my shoulder the whole time. As the paramedics move to leave, I reach out and grab one’s arm.

“Can I ride with him?” I ask desperately. He surveys me for a moment before nodding and I turn, looking at the rest of the band. “I’ll call when I know what hospital we’re at, can you grab me a change of clothes and meet us there?”

They all nod, Roger quickly reaching down and grabbing his jacket.

“Here, put this on,” he says. I smile at him gratefully, tears filling my eyes. I’m about to hug him when I hear the paramedic behind me.

“Ma’am, if you’re coming with us, you need to come now.”

And with one last look at Freddie, I turn and follow the paramedics out to the ambulance.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a few quick notes:
> 
> 1\. I have no clue if there ever was a Blue Bayou Motel in New Orleans, or if Queen ever stayed there. I made that up.  
> 2\. Brian May really did get completely wasted before the show in Harrisburg on May 1st. Apparently he was so drunk he could hardly walk, and when he played the first chord he could only hear the echo and had to play the entire show by memory.  
> 3\. Brian did collapse after the May 12th show at the Uris (now Gershwin) theater in NYC.  
> 4\. Roger is possibly one of my favorite people to write. Ever. It's like writing a four year old with a potty mouth. It's great.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter has some pretty dark themes. There is a lot of talk about terminal illness and death, as well as coping with grief. If this will trigger you, please don't read.
> 
> Also, since I love that Wattpad will let you add a cast, I'm going to do the same here:  
> Kate Jackson as Sue Harrison  
> Mandy Patinkin as Henry 'Hank' Harrison  
> Alexandra Krosney as Emma Harrison

****

**11 May 1974 | Mount Sinai West Hospital | New York, NY, USA**

  
I hate hospitals. They remind me of my dad, and it hurts to think about my dad. In fact, as I stand at the nurse’s station, phone in hand, it’s all I can do to not think about my dad. The line rings twice before someone picks up, rattling off the name of the hotel we’ve been staying at.

  
“Room 1204, please,” I say quickly, my voice shaking. I glance around, anxiety eating away at my stomach.

  
“One moment, please,” followed by a click, then three more rings. Freddie’s voice is soft on the other end.

  
“Hi, Freddie. It’s me,” I say. I bite at my nail, looking down at the counter. It’s too white.

  
“Daisy, darling, how is he?”

  
I shrug, looking around again before answering.

  
“I don’t know. They took him back and haven’t told me anything,” I answer, realizing that I’m fighting back tears. Brian looked so pale.

  
“Alright, sweetheart, just tell me which hospital you’re at and we’ll be there,” Freddie says, his voice still gentle. I shake my head, remembering that’s why I called in the first place, and clear my throat.

  
“Mount Sinai West. I’m in the emergency room,” I say. I can hear shuffling and Roger’s muffled voice, then Freddie answering back.

  
“You want us to being you clothes, right, darling?”

  
I nod, then realize he can’t see me.

  
“Yeah. Just… the jeans I wore before the concert and… a shirt. Oh, and some shoes. The slip ons.”

  
“Alright, darling. We’re on our way,” Freddie says softly. I take a deep, shaky breath and close my eyes, willing myself to calm down.

  
“Okay, Freddie,” I murmur. “Thank you.”

  
“Of course, darling. See you in a little while.”

  
I hang up, running a hand over my face. I take another deep breath and look around before heading over to the waiting area. I drop into a seat and look around, again, waiting for a doctor to come over to me and tell me what’s going on. But there’s no doctor in sight, and my eyes land on a man in the corner. He’s probably in his late fifties or early sixties, beard peppered with grey. He's sitting with a woman about my age. She looks like him, so I figure she must be his daughter. His gaze falls on mine and I see he has brown eyes, just like my dad. I manage to tear my gaze away, closing my eyes and leaning my head back.

* * *

 

**6 January 1974 | Cape Canaveral Hospital | Cape Canaveral, FL**

  
_“Why are hospitals so cold?”_

  
_I look at Emma blankly, surveying her as we sit side-by-side in the hall._

  
_“Just to bug you,” I finally answer. She rolls her eyes at me, crossing her arms over her chest._

  
_“Shut up, asshole,” she quips quietly. I flip her off quickly, not wanting the nurse on duty to catch me. She already hates Emma and I. And all because we are two strong, independent young women who don't conform to her idea of how young ladies should act. My sister and I are a lot of things, but ‘ladies’ doesn't quite fit the bill._

  
She'd have to cut us slack right now, anyways, _I think bitterly, glancing at the open doorway next to me._ It's the proper thing to do after someone's father bites it.

  
_As of ten minutes ago, I no longer have a dad. I've yet to truly feel anything, making myself numb after saying my goodbyes this morning. It had been my mom's idea, something that she'd learned when my grandma died. Grandma had held out for two days until I'd gone in the room. Dad, on the other hand, probably should have died a week ago. But, being the stubborn bull of a man that he is  was, he needed all three of us to convince him we'd be. Only then did he finally let go._

  
_Emma and I both stand as our mother comes out. She's definitely not numb, tears rolling down her face. My grandfather, her stepfather, has his arm around her shoulder. He's still in his uniform, fatigues with the Air Force emblems and American flag. He'd managed to come back on leave from where he was stationed in Korea. Perks of being a high ranking officer._

  
_“Come on, girls,” he says, his voice soft and gentle as always. The opposite of what you'd expect from a career military man. I chance another glance into the room and can still see my father's legs, covered by a blanket. I have to bite my lip to keep from screaming, the pain is so sudden and overwhelming. But I manage to take a deep breath and pull myself together._

  
_And that's the day I swear to myself that I will never step foot in a hospital again._

* * *

 

**12 May 1974**

  
It's past midnight when the boys make it to the hospital. It only took them about 20 minutes to get here. Freddie holds me close to him when I get up and throw my arms around his shoulders. My ankle smarts a bit, so I lean more on him than my own feet.

  
“I'm so glad you're here,” I whisper, tears falling as the events of the evening finally catch up with me. Freddie smooths a hand down the back of my head and cradles my neck, his lips against my ear as he whispers soothing sweet nothings into it: he’ll be fine, everything is okay, shhh darling.

  
By the time I pull away I’m hiccupping and my ankle is throbbing. Freddie seems to notice by the way I favor it as I step away, and his brows knit in concern.

  
“Are you alright, darling?” he says, looking between my right boot and my face. I shrug and wipe my nose with the back of my hand, sniffling.

  
“I fell when I was trying to get backstage. Must’ve twisted my ankle or something on the way down.”

  
Freddie’s eyes go wide and he takes my elbow. He guides me back to my chair and lowers me into it.

  
“Sit down, darling, and I’ll go get a doctor to look at it,” he fusses, but I grab his hand.

  
“Please stay,” I whisper, fighting back tears again. He nods, looking around to Roger.

  
“I’ll go get someone, Pidge,” he offers. I smile gratefully at him, turning back to Freddie as he heads over to the reception desk.

  
“Family of Brian May?”

  
I look up at the sound of a deep voice, my eyes falling on a doctor standing on the other side of the waiting room. He’s tall, in his mid- to late-thirties with a sensible haircut. I shake those thoughts from my head as I stand, raising an arm in the air. Freddie, Deacy, and Roger all follow, standing around me.

  
“Over here,” I call, my voice tight. He looks over, nodding as he crosses the room.

  
“You’re Mr. May’s wife?” he asks, and I shake my head quickly.

  
“God sister. We’re in a - He’s  in a band, touring here, from England,” I try to explain, the words getting jumbled. The doctor nods anyways, briefly looking at a file in his hand before looking back up at me.

  
“Well, Mr. May is stable. He was severely dehydrated and running a high fever, but we’ve been able to bring his temperature back down and are getting some fluids in him,” the doctor explains. “We aren’t sure what’s causing it, but from some of the symptoms he was able to describe, it sounds like it might be Hepatitis B.”

  
I feel my eyes go wide and I tuck my arms around my chest.

  
“How could he have gotten Hepatitis?” I ask, dumbfounded. Brian is one of the most careful, health conscious people I know. There’s no way he did something reckless.

  
“Well, he mentioned having gone to Australia earlier in the year. They require several inoculations, so he may have come into contact with a needle that wasn’t properly sterilized. In any case, he needs to stay here for several weeks, at least. He’s refusing to, though, so I thought perhaps one of you might be able to convince him? He seems pretty stubborn.”

  
I can feel three sets of eyes fall on me and I bite my lip, glancing at Freddie.

  
“He’s more likely to listen to you than to any of us,” Freddie offers quietly, giving me a half smile. I nod, feeling my throat tighten. I glance back a the double doors leading into the main hospital and hear my own voice in my head - Go home, Daddy. I know you’re with me forever.

  
“I’ll take you back,” the doctor offers. I nod stiffly, moving to take a step, but there’s a sharp stab of pain in my ankle. I hiss at it, leaning on Freddie’s shoulder. Maybe my ankle is worse than I thought.

  
“Are you alright, ma’am?” the doctor asks, reaching out to take the elbow that Freddie isn’t holding. I nod, grimacing.

  
“I just twisted my ankle, it’s nothing,” I manage, but the doctor begins guiding me back to my seat. Like with Freddie, I let him. He drops to his knees, looking up to me.

  
“I can take a look at it before I take you back,” he says, reaching for the zipper on my boot. I nod, taking Freddie’s hand as he drops into the seat next to me. We all grimace collectively when my ankle is revealed, purple and slightly swollen.

  
“Looks like a sprain, at least. You really should have this x-rayed…”

  
I shake my head at the doctor, just wanting to go see Brian.

  
“Can’t you just, like, wrap it or something? At least until I talk to Brian?”

  
The doctor considers me for a moment, then nods.

  
“Can one of you go ask the nurse for an Ace bandage? I’ll also get you some ibuprofen to help with the swelling after I take you back,” he says. Roger jogs back to the nurse’s station and I see him talking to the young woman behind it, pointing towards us before she nods and walks off. A moment later she returns, handing him something. When he gets back over he hands the doctor the wrap, then sits on my other side as he begins applying it. I wince at how tight it is, but find that I can put more pressure on it once he’s done. Deacy helps me get my shoes on.

  
“Okay, ready?” the doctor asks. I nod, standing carefully. Freddie squeezes my hand before I follow the doctor into the main hospital.

  
Brian’s in a room not to far from the waiting room, lying in the bed closest to the door. The other is vacant, probably to ensure Brian’s privacy. His hazel eyes open when he hears us walk in, and I thank the doctor before he ducks out, closing the door behind him.

  
“Hey,” Brian croaks, wiggling his fingers. I rush to his side as quickly as possible, but not before he sees the bandage on my leg. “What happened?”

  
I grab his hand, lacing my fingers with his long ones and shrugging.

  
“Twisted my ankle. It’s fine, though.”

  
We consider each other for a moment before I sniffle, my chin quivering.

  
“You really scared me, Bri,” I murmur, using my free hand to wipe away a tear. Brian squeezes my hand and I look up into his eyes.

  
“‘M sorry, Dais,” he apologizes, but I shake my head.

  
“Don’t apologize, Brian. It’s not your fault.”

  
He squeezes my hand in his, slowly bringing it to his mouth to press a kiss to the back of it. We hold eye contact for a moment before I sigh.

  
“So, what’s this bullshit about you not wanting to stay here and get better?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at him. Brian groans, rolling his head and avoiding eye contact.

  
“Bloody doctors, don’t understand we have a tour to get on with-” he starts complaining, but I cut him off.

  
“Brian, I’m pretty sure the tour is over for you guys. You need to take care of yourself,” I scold gently.

  
He starts to complain again, but I put a hand over his mouth.

  
“Brian Harold May, you listen to me. You are going to get better before you get anywhere near a stage. You could have died. So, you are going to stay in this hospital or we are going to go back to London and you’re going straight to hospital there. Either way, you’re going to be in a hospital.”

  
Brian glares for a moment before caving, melting into his pillow as he nods. I move my hand and he licks his lips.

  
“Alright, alright. I’ll stay the night and then we can go back to London,” he concedes. I nod approvingly, squeezing his hand.

  
“It’s settled, then. We’ll be back to get you as soon as we’ve made the arrangements,” I reply. He gives me a pathetic look and I lean over, pressing a lingering kiss to his forehead.

  
“Love you, Dais,” he murmurs, his eyes growing heavy as I lean back. I smile softly, smoothing a hand over his cheek.

  
“Love you, too, Bri-Bri.” He smiles at the childhood nickname as he lets his eyes fall closed, his breath evening out as he falls into a deep sleep.

  
I stay with Brian for a few more minutes, until his doctor shows up again. We go out into the hall, leaving Brian to sleep as I explain what Brian wants to do to the doctor. He doesn’t think it’s the best plan, but he gives his blessing nonetheless. After he gives me two ibuprofen, he escorts me back out to the waiting room and assures me that Brian’s discharge will be done as soon as we get there the next day, then bids me good night.

  
The sight I’m greeted with when I look over to the corner of the room where the boys are is enough to melt my heart. Deacy is sitting in the seat I’d been in, his head leaned back against the wall. Roger and Freddie are on either side of him, and all have their eyes closed. Roger has his back to John, his head lolled back on his shoulder. Freddie’s sitting up, his head tucked into the crook of John’s neck. All three are breathing heavily, clearly asleep. I smile softly, feeling an overwhelming sense of adoration for all of them.

  
I cross the room slowly, my legs feeling leaden with exhaustion now that the adrenaline is gone. Deciding it’s best to wake Freddie first, I gently brush his fringe off of his forehead.

  
“I’m back, sweetheart,” I murmur, leaning down to kiss his cheek. He stirs, his eyes opening slowly. A smile graces his lips when we make eye contact and he sits up. The movement wakes Deacy, who in turn wakes Roger.

  
“How’s our boy?” the blonde asks, rubbing his eyes. I smile softly, bouncing one shoulder.

  
“As good as you can expect. He’s upset about the tour, but what can he do?”

  
I don’t realize that little detail hasn’t been discussed yet until Roger’s eyes widen and Freddie’s face falls.

  
“Fuck, the tour,” Roger groans, dropping his face into his hands. Freddie crosses his arms and tucks them into his body, looking at the ground.

  
“It’s alright, Brian’s health is more important,” Deacy says sternly, looking between the two. His voice of reason is refreshing and Freddie and Roger nod.

  
“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Roger says, standing. “So, how long are we staying here, then?”

  
I sigh, running a hand through my hair.

  
“Well, Brian wants to go back home and go to hospital there. According to the doctor, that needs to be soon, so we should probably see what flights we can get tomorrow.”

  
Freddie nods, standing. I look over at him as he slips an arm around my waist and kisses my temple.

  
“So, we need to make arrangements for a flight home tomorrow. But, first, we need to sleep. Especially you, darling.”

  
He pulls me close to him and we leave the hospital, catching a cab outside. The ride back to the hotel is quiet, as is the trip up to our rooms. I feel like I desperately need a shower, and Freddie agrees that he feels the same, so I sit on the edge of the counter as he turns it on.

  
I shrug off Roger's jacket, laying it across the sink before turning back to Freddie. He nudges his way between my legs and reaches for the hem of my shirt, tugging it over my head

  
“C'mon, love,” he murmurs, taking my hand as I slowly lower myself back to the floor. His hands reach for my shorts, gently taking them off along with my panties. He presses a chaste kiss to my hip before standing, telling me to stay where I am. He undresses quickly, tossing his clothes in a pile on the floor before he kneels again and gently unwraps my ankle.

  
I let him help me into the shower, leaning into him when we're under the spray. He gently begins massaging shampoo into my hair and I risk a peek at his face.

  
“Why are you so good to me, Freddie?”

  
The words come out soft and vulnerable, and he pauses. I see something like sadness in his eyes before his fingers start moving again.

  
“Why shouldn't I be good to you, darling?” he asks, his voice equally as soft. I let him maneuver me under the spray, closing my eyes as I tilt my head back and rinse the suds from my head.

  
“I don't know. I just… I'm just tired. And you're just… so wonderfully you.”

  
When I look back to Freddie he's considering me closely, a funny look on his face. His makeup is running and his half wet hair is plastered to his cheek and neck, but I've never seen anyone more beautiful in my life and-

  
“I think I'm falling in love with you…”

  
I can see that he hears the whispered words when his eyes go wide, and my stomach feels like ice when I realize what I've said.

  
“Oh, shit, Freddie-” I start, wondering how I can possibly get out of this. The words are entirely true, but I wasn't planning on telling him. At least not yet. But, as I stammer, he suddenly leans forward, pressing his mouth to mine in a heated kiss. I moan into his mouth, my hands sliding up his slick chest. By the time he pulls away we're both panting and I can feel him half hard at my hip.

  
“Darling, I've been in love with you since I first woke up with you beside me,” he whispers, nudging his nose against mine.I smile, kissing him again. I can feel my a sob trying to break through and I hold onto it as long as possible, but I have to pull away after a few moments and let it out. Freddie holds me to his chest, pushing my hair back.

  
“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he asks, pressing kisses to my forehead. I shake my head, unable to form words. The past few hours comes crashing down around my head, and the feelings I’ve been pushing down for months come bubbling up all at once. Finally, after what seems like an hour of crying, I can speak.

  
“After my dad... “ I start, looking into Freddie’s eyes. He nods, knowing I don’t want to finish the statement, and cups my cheek. “I swore I’d never go in another hospital.”

  
Freddie nods, his own eyes welling up with tears. He pulls me to him again and we just hold each other, neither of us feeling the need to speak. When we finally pull away, we wash each other in silence. I wipe away Freddie’s makeup with a flannel, then let him help me out of the shower. We steal kisses as he dries me, then he gently rewraps my ankle. Finally we head out to the bedroom, where he helps me dress in fresh underwear and one of his shirts. I crawl into bed and watch as he dresses, then turns out the bathroom light. As soon as he climbs between the sheets I curl up to him, sighing when he wraps his arms around me.

  
“Goodnight, my love,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the bridge of my nose. I turn my face up to look at him, able to make out his dark eyes shining in the light coming from the streetlamp outside the window. I smile softly, bringing my hand up to cup his cheek.

  
“I love you,” I whisper, feeling a warmth wash over me as I say the words. Freddie smiles back, leaning in to give me a deep kiss before pulling back.

  
“I love you, too,” he replies in turn, and I decide I can definitely handle hearing those words in his voice for the rest of my life.

* * *

 

It’s late when I finally wake up. I stretch, feeling a dull ache in my ankle when I tilt my foot. I roll, expecting Freddie, but the other side of the bed is cold. I sit up, wondering where he is when the door slowly opens and the man in question softly pads in. He catches my eye, smiling softly at me.

  
“Good morning, my love,” he says, crossing the room to sit at my hip. He leans in to kiss me, lingering on my lower lip before pulling back. When he pulls away I'm smiling.

  
“Where were you?” I ask, picking up his hand and playing with his fingers. He lets me, a smile on his own mouth at the gesture.

  
“With Roger and Deacy. We've arranged a flight back home, but it doesn't leave until this evening.”

  
I nod, leaning forward to kiss Freddie. He grins against my mouth and I lean back, blushing.

  
“Sorry,” I whisper, but he shakes his head.

  
“Darling, you can kiss me whenever you'd like,” he replies, the hand in mine lacing with it. “I love you.”

  
The words make a warmth flood my chest, my heart soaring. Hearing those words is wonderful.

  
“I love you, too,” I whisper, smiling into yet another kiss.

  
I somehow manage to pull myself away after it, knowing that Brian is probably chomping at the bit to get out of the hospital. So I dress quickly and Freddie and I head down to the room Brian, Roger, and John had been sharing to get a change of clothes for Brian and let them know where we're going. Then we're off to the hospital, helping Brian fill out paperwork and getting him dressed, then piling back in a cab to go back to the hotel. Freddie sits up front, letting Brian and I share the back seat. He leans his head against the window and I find myself reaching for his hand.

  
Once we're back at the hotel John offers to pack his things so that Brian can get some rest, as was ordered by the doctor before we left: absolutely no work, no lifting, just rest.

  
So I guide Brian back to our room and get him tucked into the bed Freddie and I haven't been using. As I do, Freddie comes out of the bathroom and drops all of our soaps and shampoos into his bag.

  
“I'm going to check to be sure the equipment is all in order,” he says, wiping his hands on his jeans before coming over and kissing me quickly. “I love you.”

  
“Love you, too,” I answer softly, smiling before I turn back to fuss with the sheet around Brian. After I hear the door close I notice Brian's eyes on me and I raise an eyebrow at him.

  
“When did that happen?” he asks, and it takes me a moment to realize what he's talking about. I can't help the giddy feeling in my chest, my cheeks flushing.

  
“Last night,” I answer softly. “It was an accident, actually.”

  
Brian raises an eyebrow at me, a small smirk on his face.

  
“So, while I was lying in the hospital dying, you were professing your love to Freddie?”

  
I roll my eyes, knowing he's just taking the piss.

  
“Shut up, asshole,” I mutter, getting the sheets just where I want them before standing. I turn to walk away, but pause when he grabs my hand.

  
“I really am happy for you, Dais.”

  
I smile down at Brian, squeezing his hand. Once again, I feel silly for hiding my relationship from Freddie with him.

  
“Thanks, Bri Bri,” I reply. He lets go of my hand and closes his eyes, sighing deeply. I turn away to finish packing my things when I hear him gasp, and I turn. My heart hammers in my chest and I wonder what's wrong when I see him looking at me with wide eyes.

  
“You two haven't been fucking in this bed, have you?” he gasps, moving away from the sheets with a grimace on his mouth. I groan, scrubbing a hand over my face.

  
“Jesus fucking Christ, Brian, no,” I snap, rolling my eyes. He relaxes, whistling softly.

  
“Good. I wouldn't want to get Freddie's ball sweat on me.”

  
I do my best not to gag as Brian settles back down, resisting the urge to smack him over the head with a pillow.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter is short, but it's 75% smut. I think we can all agree that makes up for it. I have a massive project (like if-I-don't-pass-I-won't-get-my-BSSW-in-April massive) due on Friday, so my next update definitely won't be until after that. But I promise to make it nice and long!
> 
> Also, a few inconsistencies have been pointed out to me/discovered. Facts from my first source of information were vague about the timeline of Brian's illness. They just said that he collapsed after the last show in NY. According to another source that I discovered after I wrote the last chapter, however, said that he actually collapsed either on the way to or in Boston, and that the band returned to England on the 16th of May. I'm not entirely sure which is true, but the fact is that I guesstimated the timeline. I'm claiming the This Is Fanfiction rule. Additionally, it was pointed out that Freddie was still in the Holland Road flat in 1974. I changed his residence in the timeline for a reason that will be explained later. Again, I'm claiming the This Is Fanfiction rule. As the story progresses, there will be a fair number of inconsistencies, guesstimations, and straight up changes that will be (mostly) intentional. Just gently reminding everyone of that again.

****

**13 May 1974**

We somehow manage to make it back to London in one piece. It was a stressful journey, filled with haphazard packing, forcing Brian into a wheelchair because “No, I’m fine, I can walk” isn’t easy to sell when you look like you’re on death’s doorstep, Freddie panicking that he’s left his straight iron, me reassuring him that I packed it, and Roger just being whiney. By the time we’d actually gotten on the plane, my ankle was absolutely throbbing, I was stressed beyond comprehension, and I was sure I was going to strangle someone.

The actual flight was alright, and I spend most of it sleeping on Freddie’s shoulder. I didn’t even mind that he was clutching my hand the entire time, and was deeply appreciative of the way he pushed down his aerophobia, knowing it was probably his attempt to keep me calm. _I’ll need to figure out how to repay him once we get back to London,_ I’d thought to myself, dirty thoughts just barely drifting through my mind before I let sleep overtake me.

Now, nearly seven hours later we’re landing. As the plane taxis down the runway I yawn, stretching my hands above my head. I can feel Freddie’s hand shaking on my knee and I grab it as I turn and look at Brian. He’s sitting behind me, looking drained and pale, but he gives me a small smile nonetheless. Probably trying to reassure me, true to form.

It’s another fifteen or so minutes until we’re climbing off of the plane and heading towards the baggage claim. Brian’s arm is around my shoulder the entire time, more an attempt  to keep him standing than an act of affection. The roadies all make their departures, wishing Brian well. I guide him to a bench and we sit, waiting for the Roger and Deacy to collect the luggage while Freddie heads into the restroom. When he emerges a few minutes later he doesn’t look as peaky and his hands have stopped shaking.

“Alright, lovelies,” he says, giving Brian a rare affectionate pat on the cheek. “Let’s get Brian here into hospital.”

Brian smiles at Freddie’s gesture, allowing Freddie to help him up. Deacy comes over, looking at Brian with furrowed brows.

“Do you want us to go to your flat, mate? Get you some things?” he offers. Between the events of the past few days and the pure concern in Deacy’s voice, my chest tightens and I want nothing more than to hug the man.

“Not now, John. I know you want to get back to Veronica,” he says, reaching out and lightly squeezing Deacy’s shoulder. He nods, giving me a quick hug and Brian and Freddie one last look before heading out to flag down a cab. Then it’s Roger’s turn to give us a once-over.

“Make sure you get that ankle looked at, Pidge,” he says, gesturing to my wrapped leg. I nod, smiling at him. He leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek, putting a hand on my shoulder.

“If you need anything, you call, alright?”

Brian scoffs lightly next to me, glaring at Roger a little.

“I’m the one dying here, remember?” he snaps, and Roger gasps.

“Oh, yes, of course!”

I can’t help but crack a smile when Roger leans up and presses a sloppy (yet still gentle) kiss to Brian’s cheek.

“Make sure you call if you need anything, Pidge,” he says, then pats Brian on the bum for good measure. It’s reassuring to see Brian roll his eyes and smile.

“Yeah, yeah, stop groping me, ya wanker,” he quips back, drawing a hoarse laugh from Roger. The blonde nods, then pats Brian on the shoulder.

“Really, though, take care of yourself, Bri,” he says sincerely. Brian nods, smiling gently at Roger.

“I will, Rog,” he says. Roger hugs Freddie quickly before grabbing his own bags and heading out the same way Deacy went. Once it’s just the three of us, I look between Brian and Freddie.

“C’mon, love,” I say, gently guiding Brian out. Freddie manages our bags and the Red Special, which Brian eyes cautiously. I manage to flag down a cab quickly (probably owing to the fact that Brian looks like he’s about to collapse… again). The cabbie helps Freddie get everything loaded into the boot, then quickly heads to the nearest hospital.

Things move quickly once we’re there, especially after the nurse calls the hospital in New York and has the circumstances explained to her. Brian presses one last kiss to my temple before dropping into the wheelchair they’d brought out for him. I’m about to walk out when Freddie raises an eyebrow at me.

“Are you honestly going to leave without getting that ankle looked at?” he fusses. I groan, giving him my best pathetic look.

“Freddie, I just want to go home and get in bed. Can’t we do that?”

It takes me a moment to notice the funny look on Freddie’s face, then the small smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. I raise an eyebrow at him in annoyance.

“What, Freddie?” I snap, feeling the urge to smack him. It’s irrational and I chalk it up to being so tired. He just continues smiling at me, and I cross my arms over my chest. "Freddie…” I warn, pinching the bridge of my nose. He seems to come to his senses and reaches up to tuck a stand of hair behind my ear.

“Did you just call my flat ‘home’?”

I flush, realizing that, in fact, I had said the word ‘home’. I shrug, biting my lip.

“I mean, I guess ambiguously, I may have- oh, come on, Freddie, can we please just go before I collapse?”

Freddie simply continues grinning and nods, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

“Yes, love. We can go home.”

We splurge on another cab, not wanting to deal with the tube. It’s a peaceful ride, our hands clasped together as we weave our way to Kensington. I can’t help but let my mind wander, though, focusing on the fact that I’d called Freddie’s flat ‘home’.

I find myself worrying that this is all moving too fast, that we’re going to find ourselves hurtling out of control only to come crashing down in flames. It’s why I’d been so keen to take things slow. Which, obviously, didn’t work.

“We’re here, love,” Freddie suddenly says, squeezing my hand gently. I pick my head up from where it had come to rest against his shoulder and yawn, climbing out of the cab. Freddie hands me the key before turning to help the cabbie with our luggage.

I make my way into the flat and shrug off my jacket, leaving it over the back of the couch on my way to the bathroom, toeing off my shoes a moment later. I take my time, washing my face and pulling my hair back in a french braid before heading back out. Freddie’s in the bedroom by this point, dropping our bags on the bed. I walk up behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my head between his shoulder blades. I feel his hands glide over my arms, his head turning towards me.

“Let’s go to bed, my love,” he murmurs. I feel his fingertips playing with one of the rings on my finger as he continues to try to look at me over his shoulder. I only have the energy to hum in response, squeezing him before pulling away.

Freddie smiles softly down at me, tugging my shirt over my head. He drops his head to press a kiss to my sternum as he reaches around to unclasp my bra. He palms my breasts in a soft, gentle way before trailing down to my jeans. I’ve come to realize that almost everything for Freddie is at least minimally sexual, and the caresses are soothing. He presses another kiss to my collarbone as he pops the button, then lowers the zipper. He tugs the denim and my panties over my hips as he continues a trail up the side of my neck, my hands sliding up his arms to his shoulders as I tilt my head to give him better access. He sucks a line up behind my ear and nuzzles his nose against it.

“Get into bed, darling,” he murmurs. “Let me make you feel good.”

I must give Freddie an unintended look when he pulls away because he nudges his nose against mine.

“This is going to be about you, my love. You don’t need to reciprocate. Go on, get under the covers for me.”

His eyes are dark and the need to feel him overpowers my exhaustion, so I do as he asks. As I crawl under the blankets he moves our bags to the floor and undresses down to his underwear. I can see him half hard under them and I reach out as he moves to climb into the bed.

“Love,” he begins, but I pout.

“I want to feel you, Freddie,” I whine, and he nods before pulling them off. Once they’re discarded with the rest of our clothes he joins me beneath the blankets. I immediately curl into his body, pressing my face into his neck as his fingertips trail down my side.

“Lie back, love,” he urges gently, rolling with me as I settle onto my back again. He leans over me, dropping his mouth to mine as his fingers trace patterns over my hip bones and tummy. I sigh into his mouth, nibbling his bottom lip. I wiggle my hips, growing slick and impatient.

“Freddie,” I whine softly, pouting up at him. He nuzzles my nose and then brings his hand lower, his fingertips just barely brushing my clit. I gasp, rolling my hips up against his hand. He presses a bit harder, allowing me to move against his fingertips as his face drops to my throat. He sucks marks there, his fingers sliding lower until they’re pushing into my entrance.

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs pulling back to look down at my face. I moan as his fingertips find my sweetspot, rubbing gentle circles against it. He lowers his palm to press against my clit and I tangle my fingers in his hair.

“Oh, Freddie,” I whimper, pulling his face down to mine as I grind against his hand. Our tongues swirl around each other as I draw closer and closer to release. It’s been a few days, so it doesn’t take long for me to reach the precipice. I whimper into his mouth as I come, clenching around his fingers.

“I love you,” Freddie whispers, pressing one last kiss to my mouth. I respond in kind, watching as he raises his lips to his mouth and licks them clean, moaning at my taste. I reach for his cock, which is now lying hard and heavy against my hip, leaking a small pool of precome into the dip of it, but he shakes his head and bats my hand away.

“Don’t you worry about that, darling,” he says, kissing my forehead. “I’ll take care of it. You need your rest.”

I pout up at him but nod, rolling onto my side to face him. “Be quick?” I request softly, and he gives me a small smirk.

“With the show I just got? It shouldn’t take very long at all,” he answers, kissing my nose one last time before climbing out of bed. I make a mental note to wake him up with my lips around the cock that’s standing flush between his legs as I watch him walk into the bathroom, a heat that I’m too tired to address pooling in my lower belly at the thought.

As promised, Freddie doesn’t take long. He leaves the door cracked slightly ( _Exhibitionist_ , I think tiredly) so I can hear him panting and moaning over the wet sound of him working his cock to completion. I know when he softly cries my name that he’s come, and I ponder getting up to help him clean up. But the bed is so warm, and my eyes are nearly impossible to keep open as I wait for him. Finally, just as I’m beginning to drift off, there’s the click of the bedside lamp turning off before I feel the bed shift and the covers move.

“Freddie,” I murmur, reaching out to him, immediately wrapping my body around his. He reciprocates, his arms going to my waist as he lays on his side facing me. No other words are spoken as I begin to drift off, just Freddie’s soft breathing and the gentle patter of rain starting as I finally let myself fall into a deep sleep.

* * *

The sun is shining brightly through the part in the curtains when the bell sounds downstairs. I groan, tucking myself tighter against Freddie. The bell sounds a second time and Freddie curses, untangling his limbs from mine. I can hear him muttering about rude douchebags who have no respect for a person’s sleep as he shrugs on a robe, tying it tightly around himself before making his way out to the front room. I hear him swear loudly at whoever’s incessantly ringing when the bell sounds a third time.

As the door opens I close my eyes, still so tired from the past few days. I feel myself fading back into sleep when I can hear a female voice. This sparks my interest, so I knit my eyebrows as I listen. I can’t make out what’s being said, but there is a definite exchange between the mystery woman and Freddie. I can’t entirely tell any emotion behind it, but what I can get from Freddie’s voice sounds anxious.

_Mary._

The thought of her name forces my eyes open and I feel a leaden weight settle in my stomach. She’s someone I’d thought about too much in the short time I’ve been with Freddie. The thoughts are never good ones, generally a spike of anger when he displays insecurities. It’s slightly irrational; I know she probably really did care about him, but the knowledge of how she treated his coming out made my blood boil.

And now here she was, ringing Freddie’s bell at God knows what hour, pulling him from bed. The bed that he's sharing with _me_. I can feel my stomach churning for the next few minutes, their voices still drifting in through the cracked bedroom door. I roll onto my side, the scent of Freddie’s shampoo and cologne assaulting me as my head lands on his pillow. The scent, normally soothing, sends a sharp pang of fear into my belly.

_What if she’s asking him to take her back?_  I think to myself. _What if he does go back to her?_

The thought is enough to jolt me awake, forcing me to sit up. I push the blankets back and get out of bed, retreating into the solace of the bathroom. Once the door is closed I glance at myself in the mirror before going about my business, my head still filled with anxiety-inducing scenarios where Freddie comes in and orders me out of his flat, telling me he’s never actually loved me and that Mary’s his true love.

When I finally manage to leave the bathroom I can no longer hear the voices. I jump when I see Freddie standing beside the bed, heat filling my cheeks.

“Oh, there you are. I was just - Daisy, what’s wrong?”

Freddie’s eyes search mine as he comes over to me, reaching out and cupping my cheeks. I simply stare at him, too terrified to voice the truth. So instead I opt for an easier question.

“Who was that?” I manage to say. It’s as if Freddie reads my mind because he immediately softens, his thumb rubbing my cheekbone softly.

“That was Mary. She’d heard about Brian and wanted to make sure he was okay,” Freddie answers. I feel a sharp possessiveness rear its head in my chest. How _dare_ she ask about _my_ Brian? I do my best not to relay my annoyance in my face as I nod. Freddie considers me for a moment before lowering his hands to mine.

“Come back to bed, love,” he requests softly, pulling slightly on my hand. I follow, climbing back into my spot as he takes the robe off. He reaches for me as soon as he’s between the sheets and I go, wrapping my arm around his waist.

“I’d never leave you for her, you know.” Freddie’s words shock me, my body automatically stiffening. He tightens the arm that’s around my back and rests his chin against my head. “She and I… we just aren’t good for one another.”

Thoughts swirl around my head, making it swim as I let my fears bubble to the surface. I find that they dissipate at his words, allowing me to actually breathe. I look up at him and he smiles down at me, brushing a strand of hair from my face.

“Besides,” he murmurs, tangling his fingers in my hair. “My heart belongs to someone else.”

* * *

When we wake a second time it’s definitely past noon. I feel well rested, my chest happy and full. When I shift I can still feel the remnants of mine and Freddie’s lovemaking; after reassuring me that I’m the one he wants, Freddie had rolled on top of me, taking me gently. The slow roll of his hips seemed to last forever, and we both came at the same time, our bodies melting against one another.

I roll in his arms, smiling softly at the peaceful look on his face. His hair is slightly mussed, lips slightly parted. He's snoring softly, a sign he's still sleeping soundly. Knowing it won't wake him, I gently nudge him onto his back. He goes willingly, his head falling to the opposite side. I pause a moment, making sure that he settles back into a deep sleep before ducking under the covers.

He doesn't stir as I crawl down his body, unable to resist pressing a light kiss to his hip bone. I can see him already beginning to fill out so I lick a soft line to the base of his cock, then lick my way down to his tip. He snuffles in his sleep, tossing his head.

I keep my eyes on his face as I wrap my lips around his tip and l lightly suck, drawing both a light moan and drop of precome from him. I take it as encouragement to continue and swallow him deeper. My hand moves down to cradle his sac, slowly rolling it in my hand as I bob up and down. He's panting now, his legs twitching at my sides while I continue to suck him off. I lower my eyes for a moment, relaxing my throat to take him into it as far as possible, and that’s when I feel a hand tangle in my hair.

Freddie looks indescribably beautiful when I look back up at him. His lips are parted on moans that seem continuous, swollen and slick from biting them. His eyes, still half-closed with sleep, track mine as I move up and down along his length. I pull off of him with a pop, licking my way up and down his shaft a few times before digging the tip of my tongue into his slit. When I lower my mouth back over his cock he whimpers, tugging at my hair. I know it’s his warning that he’s close, so I do something I haven’t done yet: I push down further, taking him down as far as possible. His abdomen clenches and he cries out unintelligibly as I feel the hot flood of him coming down my throat.

It takes him a moment to come down from his high, his cock falling from my mouth when I pull back. He pants, reaching out for me, so I crawl up his body. He kisses me deeply, his tongue diving into my mouth. He moans when he tastes himself, his fingers digging into the globes of my ass. When he finally pulls away, both of our mouths are swollen and spit-slicked.

“Well, _that_ was a hell of a way to wake me up,” he says breathlessly, a small smile playing on his lips. I giggle, dropping a kiss to his collarbone.

“Just wanted to take care of you the way you took care of me last night,” I reply, sucking on his neck. He moans, tilting his head to the side slightly.

“Well, you have the talent of a professional, my dear,” he says. It takes me a moment to process what he’s just said, and when I lean back and look at him I can tell from his red cheeks and wide eyes that he didn’t think it through.

“Daisy, I-”

“Did you just tell me I suck cock like a prostitute?”

He blushes even deeper, his eyes widening further as I narrow my eyes in a sharp glare. I let him suffer a little before scrambling up to straddle his hips.

“Mr. Mercury, I hate to tell you this, but if I were a prostitute, you would never be able to afford me,” I say in a clipped tone, raising an eyebrow. He stares at me, mouth continuing to open and close, tripping over apology after apology. Finally, deciding I’ve tortured him enough, I crack a smile. He groans loudly, smacking a hand to his forehead.

“Oh, you awful, terrible woman,” he snaps, peeking at me between his fingers. I laugh, putting a hand on his chest.

“Who just called who a prostitute?” I manage, swinging a leg over to climb off of the bed. He continues to glare at me, rolling onto his side.

“You could have spared me,” he pouts, glaring halfheartedly at me. I smile at him.

“Where’s the fun in that?” I ask, laughing when he flips me off. I turn and head to the bathroom, swinging my hips for him. When I reach the door, I turn, catching his eye. “You can leave my payment on the bedside table with a bottle of champagne.”

I scream as Freddie suddenly bounds out of bed, but manage to slam the bathroom door shut just as he reaches it.

“You can’t hide in there forever, woman!” he shouts through the door. I laugh and lean against it, my heart hammering in my chest. After a moment, I hear him knock softly on the door just before I hear his voice, soft and serious.

“Seriously, though, Daisy… I have to pee.”

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, because I miss the reader interactions on Tumblr, I'm going to have a little contest... the first to guess the next song Freddie writes about Daisy gets a shout out in the notes of the next chapter. The clues are hidden somewhere in this chapter, and also tie back to something Daisy said to Freddie earlier in the series. Have fun!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a few updates:  
> I've decided to split this series up into several series. Each will cover a decade. The '70s and '80s will probably have around 30 chapters each, and the '90s will have around 15. I'm planning on doing a mini-series of oneshots from the '00s as well.  
> Between each of the series I will have an "interview" with Daisy and Freddie (and maybe Brian, Roger, and Deacy) as a filler. The questions will come from you guys, the readers, so please send me questions!! Either comment here, or you can private message me on Wattpad. I'll have a list going for each decade, and questions can be anything to do with events mentioned in the series or not (as long as they happened in the AU). So start sending your questions in!

****

**1 June 1974 | Brian's Hospital Room**

“Can I go home now?”

I look over my book at Brian, raising an eyebrow. He still looks terrible, even after nearly three weeks in hospital. He's no longer got a yellow tinge to his skin, but he's thinner than usual and has deep purple circles under his eyes. Right now they're helping him to look even more pathetic as he lays in bed, staring at me. I take in his mussed hair and wrinkled pajamas.

“Nope.”

He groans, reaching up to scratch at his scalp. I pause, considering him for a moment before closing my book. 

“Come on, Beanpole,” I say, setting the book aside and standing. He eyes me as I walk over, tugging his sheets back and holding his IV line up. 

“Where are we going?” he asks warily, slowly climbing out of bed anyways. 

“Bathroom. You need pampering,” I answer simply. He seems to brighten a little, then makes a face. 

“You're not going to look at me naked, are you?”

I gag for effect, shaking my head.

“Ew, no. I'll leave that to Chrissie.”

The two of us have been taking Brian shifts,  the boys filling in where they can. I've actually grown quite close to Chrissie, bringing her coffee and treats when we change shifts. As of right now she's at work, planning on coming back in an hour or so. 

I help Brian into the bathroom, pulling the shower bench out and putting it in front of the sink. When he sits he’s the perfect height to tilt his head back over the sink and I direct him to do so as I grab a cup and the shampoo Chrissie had brought from his flat. 

The moment I begin pouring water over his hair he practically melts, his eyes closing. He lets out a soft moan when I begin massaging the shampoo into his scalp.

“That feels so good,” he sighs. My chest fills with affection when I feel the arm closest to me wrap around my hip. He leans his shoulder into my belly and I'm almost certain I can hear him purring. 

I spend a good five minutes washing his hair, knowing he's become anxious at being kept in hospital for so long. His long fingers squeeze at my hip while I rinse his hair and apply conditioner to his curls. 

“How's things with Fred?” he asks, poking an eye open at me. I grin, my chest swelling. 

“Good,” I answer simply. It's definitely an understatement; in the past three weeks, I've practically moved in with Freddie (despite Brian offering me his flat while he's in hospital). We spend most mornings making love slowly, afternoons lying about together, and evenings making love again. It's been blissful to say the least. 

“He's treating you alright?”

I can hear the protective edge in Brian's voice and have to smile. 

“He's very good to me, Bri.”

Brian nods gently as I begin to rinse the conditioner from his hair, then squeeze the water from it. I help him to sit back up, gently scrunching his hair to encourage the curl. Finally, I towel dry it to prevent any drips and help him back to his bed. Once he's tucked in I move to return to my chair, but he grabs my wrist and tugs me into bed beside him. 

“Y'know, you're very snuggly when you don't feel good,” I observe, tucking myself into his side. Brian shrugs. 

“Maybe I just want to spend some time with my favorite godsister,” he answers. I grin up at him. 

“I'm going to tell Emma you said that.”

Brian shrugs again. 

“She's been on my list since that time she threw up all over the Red Special.”

I laugh. “Brian, she was three.”

Brian simply grunts, then settles back against the pillows. We both fall into a comfortable silence, drifting in and out of sleep. I've just fallen back into that peaceful place between the two when I hear someone walk in. 

“Oh my God, this is precious,” I hear whispered, the huskiness of the voice giving Roger away. There's a snort when I raise my hand to flip him off without opening my eyes. 

When I do, I can see him standing at the end of the bed, his arms crossed over his chest and a sickeningly sweet smile on his face. 

“Chrissie is supposed to be here soon,” I say, keeping my voice soft. I glance up at Brian, who’s still asleep, and carefully climb out of bed. I stretch, watching as Roger crosses to sit in the chair I’d been in earlier.

“Well, I went by Fred’s and he said you’ve been here all day, so I figured you’d want a break,” he says, blue eyes flashing to Brian’s sleeping form. When they turn back to me I can tell there’s something else he wants to say, but he’s keeping quiet. Deciding that now is not the time to press it, I only nod and walk over to him. I collect my bag, making sure I have everything before dropping a kiss onto the top of Roger’s head.

“Thanks, love,” I murmur. He grins up at me as I lightly pinch his nose, something I do fairly often. From the way he’s never complained (and Roger Taylor is not shy about complaining), I think he likes it. He settles back in the chair and closes his eyes as I leave, and I find I’m almost giddy at the prospect of having an extra hour with Freddie.

* * *

 

The giddy feeling only lasts as long as the trip back to Freddie’s flat. Knowing the door would be unlocked (it always is when he’s home and I’m not there to be paranoid), I go right in, hanging up my bag on the hook usually reserved for coats in the front hall.

“I’m back, Freddie,” I call, pausing at the mirror beside it to check my reflection. My hair is getting a bit flat so I fluff it before continuing into the main room. “Roger showed up, said he’d come by here and you were-”

My stomach drops to my knees at the sight in front of me. Freddie’s sitting on the couch, cup of tea in hand. Sitting opposite him is a blonde, a bit taller than me, matching cup of tea in her hand. Her eyes fall on me and she smiles, setting down the cup in it’s saucer and standing. 

“You must be Daisy,” she says, and I immediately recognize her voice. Mary. As she approaches me, her smile reminds me of a cartoon I once saw of a sly fox who was after an innocent rabbit, and heat fills the empty place where my stomach was. I am  _ not _ a rabbit.

“And you must be Mary,” I respond, putting on my own sweet smile. I can see Freddie eyeing us nervously from the couch as we shake hands. Mary tilts her head, putting on a confused face.

“We weren’t expecting you back for another hour or so,” she says. I bristle at the inflection in the way she says ‘we’ and I narrow my eyes momentarily before looking to Freddie. 

“Well,  _ Freddie _ knew where I was and doesn’t mind when I come home early,” I respond, making his eyes widen. “What are  _ you _ doing here?”

“I came to bring Freddie some things from  _ our _ flat,” she responds and I have to tamp the urge to slap her. 

“You mean  _ your _ flat? Because Freddie’s been here, what, over a year now?”

Freddie’s mouth opens but no sound comes out. I give him a look and it snaps shut, obviously conveying that he’s in for it when Mary leaves. The blonde is the one to narrow her eyes now, her sickly-sweet smile faltering. I feel momentarily victorious, and the feeling swells at Mary’s next words.

“Well, I should probably be going now,” she says, her voice suddenly like ice instead of the false warmth it had been radiating a moment ago. She turns, walking back over to Freddie. 

“I'll be seeing you, Freddie,” she says, and I know it's directed more at me. My blood boils as she leans over to kiss his cheek and I have to, once again, resist the urge to walk over and do her physical harm. 

“It was  _ lovely _ to meet you,” she simpers as she passes me, not giving either of us another look before she walks out of the flat. 

“Daisy-” Freddie begins, but I cut him off with a withering look. 

“Oh, so you remember how to speak now?”

Freddie flushes, pushing himself off of the sofa and setting down the tea that's still clutched in his hand. 

“Daisy, love, that wasn't what you think,” he says, but I cut him off again. 

“This is why Roger came to the hospital,” I realise, running a hand through my hair. “He knew Mary was here.”

Freddie's eyes narrow and he scoffs. 

“So Roger went and tattled, did he?” Freddie sneers. I roll my eyes, brushing past him to head into the bedroom. 

“He didn't  _ tattle _ Freddie. I had no idea  _ why _ he showed up, but I'm glad he did,” I reply. Freddie gives me another look but I ignore it. 

“So, you don’t trust me?”

I turn, pursing my lips in an irritated way. 

“I don’t even think I should dignify that question with an answer,” I snap, turning and walking into the bedroom. I’m not even aware of what I’m doing as I begin making the bed. I realize belatedly that I’m trying to busy my hands so I don’t walk out and I feel a stab of annoyance at myself.

“Why else would you be so upset that Mary was here? You obviously don’t believe what I told you when she was here last and think that the moment she shows up I’ll fall into bed with her.”

I turn to Freddie, directing my annoyance at him.

“Jesus Christ, Freddie, it’s not  _ you  _ I don’t trust. It’s  _ her _ .” 

I move to push past Freddie again but he steps into my path, blocking the doorway.

“Daisy, she was here to bring back some things that she found around our- _ her _ flat. She wanted to get them  _ out _ , doesn’t that prove that she’s moved on? She’s not going to try anything!” 

I cross my arms over my chest, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Freddie, if she  _ just _ wanted to drop your things off, why did she stay for tea? And why did she say ‘ _ we _ weren’t expecting you’?”

Freddie seems to know he’s lost this round because he just gapes at me for a moment. I use the distraction of him trying to find words to push past him and head out to the front room. I gather the cups and saucers. I feel a flash of jealousy when I see her lipstick staining the rim of the cup that I ordinarily use. I make a mental note to never use the cup again.  _ Maybe I’ll accidentally drop it, _ I think immaturely. 

Freddie appears as I take the dishes to the sink, beginning to wash them.

“I wasn’t done with that,” he says, coming up beside me. I hold the cup out to him, my arm moving so fast that some of the tea sloshes out onto the floor.

“By all means, Fred, enjoy your  _ cold _ tea,” I sniff. I turn the water on and grab the dishrag, dumping the tea from her cup and scrubbing roughly at the lipstick. It’s too pink, I decide. From the corner of my eye I can see Freddie forcing the tea down, obviously out of spite. When he’s done he leans around me to drop the cup in the sink. 

“And, just so you know, we were catching up. That’s it,” he says, his voice clipped and formal. “She was asking about the tour. If the band is doing well. Not exactly foreplay, is it?”

My anger spikes dangerously, slamming the rag down hard enough that suds fly everywhere and shutting the water off.

“She’s using you, Freddie!” I yell, turning around, my eyes going wide. I point towards the door. “Don’t you see that! Isn’t it awfully convenient that as soon as you get back from your first international tour with your new girlfriend that she  _ finds _ things in her flat that she’s had for  _ over a fucking year _ and is  _ just now _ bringing to you!”

Freddie glares harshly at me, licking his lips.

“Is this when I have to remind you that this is  _ my _ flat and I can let in whomever I please, and she was here long before you?”

His words are like a punch in the gut and I stop, suddenly overwhelmingly nauseas. He’s finally voiced my fears, that I will always be overshadowed by the great Mary Austin. Not even the instant look of regret on his face can keep me from letting out a half-gasp-half-dark-laugh. I can feel tears prick my eyes and I force myself to take in a deep breath.

“Daisy, I’m sorr-”

“ _ No. _ ”

Freddie’s eyes are wide as I brush past him towards the bedroom and he follows me, grabbing at my upper arm. I turn, harshly shoving at his chest before continuing into the bedroom. I pull my bag from under the bed and begin haphazardly shoving clothes in it. Freddie comes in, pleading with me as he tries to pull the bag away.

“Daisy, I didn’t mean it, please,” he begs. I can hear tears in his voice but my anger is too strong for me to acknowledge them. I only look at him when he manages to pull the bag from my grasp. 

“Freddie, give me my fucking bag,” I snap. I finally meet his gaze and see the tears running down his cheeks, and I feel my own begin to pool.

“Not until you tell me you still love me,” he pleads, his voice desperate. I feel a tug in my chest and have to swallow.

“Of course I still  _ love you _ . Why the hell else would I be so fucking upset?” I snap, but my voice is softening with tears. 

“Don’t go, sweetheart, please don’t go,” he continues to beg, dropping the bag on the bed and falling to his knees. He wraps his arms around my waist, burying his face in my belly. He presses kisses into it, murmuring ‘I love you’ over and over again. I do my best not to, but I can’t help reaching down and lacing my fingers in Freddie’s hair. He seems to take this as a sign of forgiveness because I hear him sob a moment before he presses his face against my belly. 

“Freddie,” I murmur, my own voice slightly pleading. “Freddie, look at me.”

He sniffles and does so, tilting his head so his chin is resting just below my belly button. His eyes flutter and his lower lip quivers as I reach down to cup his cheeks, wiping his tears away.

“I’m so sorry,” he sniffles, leaning into my touch. I nod, sniffling myself.

“I know you didn’t mean it, Freddie,” I whisper, furrowing my brows. “But do you understand why I’m upset? She hurt you and I can’t forget that. I’m not ready to forgive her for it, either.”

He nods, turning his head to kiss the base of my thumb. 

“What can I do so you forgive  _ me _ ?” he asks, his voice soft. As he makes eye contact with me the air in the room shifts, suddenly becoming thick. I’m not sure if it’s the intense love I’m feeling for him right now or the possessive jealousy, but suddenly I need to feel him.  _ All _ of him.

“Show me who you belong to,” I answer, my voice low and thick with the sudden arousal flowing through my veins. Freddie’s eyes darken and be licks his lips, nodding. He moves to stand but I put a hand on his head, keeping him down.

“ _ Show me who you belong to _ ,” I repeat, my voice taking on a harsh edge. It seems to surprise him just as much as me, his eyes going wide for a moment before he nods again.

“Yes, ma’am,” he whispers, and it sends a zap of pleasure straight between my legs. I turn my body, sitting on the edge of the bed. It’s warm enough that I was able to wear a dress today, and I grab the hem and pull it up to my hips.

“Take them off,” I instruct softly, jabbing my chin softly towards my panties. Freddie doesn’t waste any time, reaching up to curl his fingers in the waistband and tug them down. I lift my hips enough that he can slide them off and he discards them, his hands moving to touching me. I click my tongue, catching his eye when he looks up at me.

“I think since your mouth is what’s gotten you into trouble that it should be what you use to apologize.”

I see Freddie swallow and he nods, his eyes falling to my exposed folds as I bring my heels up to rest on the edge of the bed. I let my knees fall apart and he takes it as permission to dive in, his tongue swiping broad strokes along the seam of my lips. I moan softly, reaching down to brush his fringe back so I can see his face. 

“You're so beautiful,” I murmur, drawing a moan from him. He points his tongue, dipping it in my entrance. 

“Do you like how I taste?” I ask, unsure where my sudden bravery is coming from. I've never been inclined to dominance in bed, but I could definitely get used to this. 

Freddie nods and, in another surge of possessiveness, I reach down and cup his chin to tilt his face up. 

“Use your words, darling,” I urge, rubbing my thumb through the slick on his chin. 

“Yes, I love how you taste,” he answers breathlessly. I smile, letting go of his chin. 

“I think you can show me how much you love it a little bit better, then,” I reply. He nods again, then dives in. I can feel his tongue in my hole as his teeth rub against my clit and I moan, weaving my hands in his hair to tug at it. 

“Oh, fuck, Freddie,” I moan, grinding my cunt against his face. He sucks on my clit, drawing me closer to the edge, but I need more. 

“You can use your hands now, love,” I encourage, knowing his long, skilled fingers will have me close to the edge in no time. Sure enough, as soon as he slides his fore a middle fingers into me he's able to find my sweet spot, massaging it. I turn into a moaning mess, forcing myself to remain upright so I can see him. The vision of him with his face between my thighs is intoxicating, and with one final press to my sweet spot I'm coming, calling out his name as I grind against his face. 

He gently licks me through it, his eyes on mine as his last lick makes my hips jump. I pet him gently, brushing his hair back off of his forehead. 

“So good, my love,” I manage, my voice hardly above a whisper. He pulls back and I see his face is shiny with my slick. I run my thumb against the swell of his bottom lip and he sucks it into his mouth. “Do you want to use your cock next?”

Freddie’s eyelids flutter and he nods, letting go of my thumb. I grin at him, putting my hand under his chin again. 

“Well, then, you’d better get us undressed,” I instruct, leaning forward to press a kiss to his mouth. He moans, pushing himself into it as my tongue darts out to taste myself on his mouth. When I pull away he chases my mouth.

“So eager for me,” I giggle, rubbing the tip of my nose against his. He smiles back, nodding.

“Only you, my love,” he whispers. I kiss him lightly once more before I lean back, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Well, undress us, then,” I say, my eyes on him as he scrambles to his feet. “Then I’m going to ride that pretty cock.”

Freddie’s cheeks flush and he reaches for the hem of my dress, pulling it over my head. His eyes drop to my bare breasts but I shake my head.

“Clothes off, darling.”

Freddie pouts at me but obeys, lifting his shirt over his head before reaching for the button of his trousers. I can see his cock straining beneath the fabric and I reach out for it, rubbing it with my palm through the soft fabric. Freddie moans loudly, his head falling back.

“Is this all because of me?” I ask, looking up at him through my lashes. He nods, biting his lip. I grin and take my hand away, nodding for him to continue. Once his cock springs free he sighs, shimmying his trousers the rest of the way off. I stand, pressing against him and pulling his head down for a deep kiss. I manage to turn us before I pull away, then point at the bed.

“Lay down, I want to ride you,” I instruct. Freddie nods and I take a moment to appreciate how beautiful he is: neck and cheeks flushed, lips spit slicked and swollen, eyes dark. He’s beautiful. 

His eyes are on me as I straddle his hips, his lips parting in a moan as I grind my wet cunt against the underside of his cock. 

“Please,” he eventually whines, his hands coming up to grasp my hips. I let them, gently lifting up so that I can grasp his cock and angle it towards my entrance. We both moan loudly as it slides in, the slick from my orgasm making it an easy feat. Once I’m settled back down all the way to the hilt, I find myself reaching down to rest a hand on his chest as I ride him. 

After a minute or two of me rocking against him, only the sound of our light moans in the air, I suddenly remember the sound of her voice, the image of her leaning down and kissing his cheek, and I feel the same possessive spike of anger shoot through my chest. I don’t know why I do it, but I slowly slide my hand up until it’s at the base of Freddie’s throat. He whines, his eyes going wide.

“Is this-" I begin, but Freddie cuts me off.

“ _ Fuck _ yes.” His voice is wrecked and whiney, a combination that makes me pick up speed. I squeeze my hand a little, bending over him.

“Who do you belong to?” I ask, emotion breaking through, softening the question.

“You,” he answers back, voice soft. I feel his hands tighten on my hips, urging me to go faster. I nuzzle my nose into his cheek, my hand still around his throat.

“Do you want to fuck me, Freddie?” 

I nearly laugh when he begins nodding quickly, continuing to whimper. I grin, leaning over him so that we’re nose to nose.

“Well, then, roll us over and  _ fuck me _ .”

It’s as if the words break through the haze and he flips us, suddenly and violently. My hand leaves his throat, sliding around to his back as he tucks his face into my throat. His hips are pistoning, shaking the bed enough that it’s slamming against the wall. My nails dig into his shoulder blade when the head of his cock hits my sweet spot, and then I can feel myself tipping over the edge again. I’m vaguely aware of Freddie crying out my name as he comes, filling me with his hot seed. 

“Oh, my  _ God _ ,” he pants, rolling onto his back. We lie there for a moment, both staring at the ceiling as we catch our breath. “Where did  _ that _ come from, and how soon can we do it again?”

I giggle, rolling onto my side and kissing his shoulder.

“I didn’t hurt your throat, did I?” I ask, propping myself up onto my elbow to prod at the skin there. Freddie shakes his head, taking my hand and lifting it to his mouth so he can kiss my fingertips.

“Not at all, my love,” he assures me. I grin, leaning down to press a kiss to his mouth. He reaches up, sliding his fingers into my hair as he deepens it. When we pull apart he presses our foreheads together.

“I really do love you,” he murmurs. “And I do belong to you.  _ Only _ you.”

I nod, biting my lip against the sudden tears in my eyes. Freddie kisses me again, fingertips massaging my scalp. When we eventually pull away he rubs the tips of our noses together, gazing up at me.

“What do you say we go have a shower and then make some dinner together?” he offers, tucking my hair behind my ear. I nod, smiling down at him. 

“Sounds splendid, love.”

* * *

 

**4 June 1974 | Brian’s Flat**

“Brian, will you  _ please _ sit down and let one of us do that?” Chrissie snaps, raising her eyebrow at the curly-haired man in question. He’s currently trying to put the fitted sheet on his bed, despite explicit instructions from his doctor not to do  _ any _ physical work for at least a week. I set down the bag from the greengrocer's I’d just returned from and shoot Freddie a look.

“Freddie, you’re supposed to be keeping him off of his feet,” I scold. I walk over to Brian, pulling the sheet from his hand and pointing at the sofa, where Freddie’s lying with an open sketchbook in his lap.

“There’s only so much I can do without physically restraining him, you know,” Freddie responds, smudging the line he’d just drawn with his ring finger. Brian grumbles and tries to take the sheet back, but I toss it away and put my hands on his hips.

“Brian Harold, so help me, I will call your mother and tell her you were crying for your Mummy,” I growl, pushing him ungracefully across the flat. He gives me a wounded look.

“You wouldn’t  _ dare _ ,” he hisses, but I raise an eyebrow. Ruth May is the type of mother to come rushing to nurse Brian back to health if she knew she was wanted, and Brian knows I’m fully aware of that. She’s not here now only because I’d called and reassured her that I was here to care for Brian and I would call her if she was needed.

“Try me.”

The threat seems to work because Brian relents, letting me settle him on the couch. He doesn’t even complain when I drape a blanket over his lap and yank his sleeves down to his wrists.

“Keep him  _ here _ , Freddie.  _ Freddie _ .” 

I walk over and tilt the sketchbook down so that Freddie can’t continue drawing. His scowls at me but nods.

“Mother hen,” he sniveles. Brian scoffs.

“Just wait til  _ you’re _ sick. Then it’ll be  _ really _ annoying,” Brian mutters darkly. I raise an eyebrow at him, crossing my arms over my chest.

“That call to your mum can still happen, you know,” I threaten. Brian relents, his dark eyebrows lowering into a hard glower as I walk over and begin making the bed. 

I’ve just gotten the pillowcases on when there’s a knock on the door. I’m glad when I see Freddie jump up and get it, revealing John, Veronica, and Roger on the other side of it. All three have dishes in their hands, Veronica having offered to make dinner since we’d be busy getting Brian settled back at home after he was released from the hospital today. 

I toss the last pillow on the bed, fluffing it a little before crossing the flat to help them get the food into the kitchen. I groan when I smell what I assume is vegetable soup, lifting the lid of the pot in Roger’s hand.

“Spent all day slaving over this, Pidge,” Roger quips, dramatically shaking the fringe out of his eyes as he lifts it onto the counter. I grimace, gagging.

“Better throw it all away, then, knowing your cooking,” I say. Veronica laughs, going through the drawers until she finds a ladle. John squeezes my shoulder as he leans around me to set  plate of potatoes on the counter.

“Thanks for taking care of him,” he says. I shrug, giving him a half smile.

“Well, Freddie told me it’s my responsibility to find you all a new guitarist if he kicks the bucket on my watch, and who’s got time for that?”

John grins, shaking his head. I hear Roger snort next to me and look at him as he begins ladling soup into bowls. 

Once we have the food passed around (Brian tried to refuse a half mug of soup and I threatened to pin him down and force feed him, something which Roger found hilarious), we all settle in various parts of the flat. I find myself leaned against the bed next to Roger, who nudges my foot playfully with his.

“Thanks for the other day,” I say softly, taking a spoonful of soup. I shoot Veronica a thumbs up and she grins back. When I look back at Roger he just shrugs.

“I was telling the truth when I said you’re better for him than Mary ever was,” he replies softly, eyes flitting to Freddie. He’s back at his drawing, bowl sitting forgotten on the coffee table, and doesn’t seem to be able to hear us.

“He’s different, Freds is,” Roger continues, moving the vegetables around in his soup. “Needs a special person to take care of him. Someone who won’t put up with his shit, but won’t try to change him. I’ve seen how he looks at you, Pidge. And how he acts around you. It’s not like with Mary.”

I stare at him, forgetting my own soup as his eyes dart over to Freddie.

“When he was with her, I knew… he wasn’t really happy. He acted like it, but he was… different. Almost like he was afraid to really be himself around her. And when he slipped and he  _ was _ himself, she’d get all… critical. Like she didn’t  _ want _ him to be himself.”

Roger’s words make me sad, and I can’t help but look back over at Freddie. He’s got his tongue poked out from between his teeth as he scrubs at the pencil with his ring finger. 

“What I’m trying to say, Pidge, is that I’ve known Freddie for a long time and you’re the absolute best thing for him. He deserves someone as amazing as you,” Roger finishes. I have to resist the urge to throw down my bowl and tug Roger into an enormous hug. Instead, I nudge his foot with mine and give him a massive grin.

“Roger, that is  _ my _ girlfriend, you get your own!” Freddie suddenly shouts, both Roger and I turning to see Freddie staring at us from across the room. 

“And how an angel like this wound up with a wanker like you is beyond me,” Roger scoffs, taking another huge bite of soup. Freddie flips Roger off before blowing me a kiss and going back to his drawing. I simply grin at the action before I see Brian from the corner of my eye, reaching over to pour his soup into Freddie’s abandoned bowl.

“Don’t you dare!” I shout, pointing at Brian. He glowers, leaning back.

“Son of a bitch.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick reminder that I'm still taking questions for the reader interview at the end of this part of the series! Send them in!!

****

**19 July 1974 | Freddie's Flat | Near Midnight**

“So there I was, standing outside my mum and dad's door wearing nothing but a cowboy hat and this girl's knickers.”

We all laugh as Roger takes a swig of his (fifth) beer, listening as he recounts the story of his parents finding out he's not a virgin. I snuggle closer into Freddie's side as he continues, curling my legs up into his lap. He rests his own teacup of vodka on my knee and presses a kiss to my forehead.

“So, I try to make a quick getaway, but dad has the hearing of a dog, and he whips open the door-” Roger swings his arm dramatically, narrowly avoiding the face of the girl pressed against his side (Crystal? Caitlin?) “and screams. He thought I was some sort of deranged murderer before he realized I was actually me.”

I look around as everyone laughs again, sipping my beer. Freddie and I are curled up on one end of the sofa, Chrissie and Brian mirroring us on the other side. He's looking drastically better, though he's still not at a hundred percent. He's still nursing his first beer, but he ate a healthy helping of vegetarian pasta earlier, so I'm not worried.

John and Veronica are sharing the wingback chair we'd pulled from Freddie's room, and Roger and his date (still can't remember her name, but I swear it starts with a ‘C’) are sitting on the floor across the coffee table, their backs against the bookcase behind them. Emma, my sister, is sitting in a chair she'd pulled from the kitchen table, clutching a vodka tonic in a teacup like Freddie's. She's here for a few weeks, on break from her own studies at the University of Florida.

“What about when mom and dad found out _you_ aren't a virgin?” she says, turning her brown eyes on me. I flush, ready to murder her, and bury my face in my hand.

"God, why did you have to bring that up?” I groan. I feel Freddie shift and look at me, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, go on. We haven't got all night,” he says. I feel everyone else staring at me so I groan again, letting my head fall back.

“Alright, alright,” I concede, rubbing my temple with my free hand. “I was 18. I'd just finished my first year of university and was home on break. My boyfriend at the time, Michael-”

“Bloody wanker,” Brian mutters darkly, glaring at a spot on the wall. I ignore him.

“ _Michael_ came home with me. My parent's house is right down the street from the beach, so we'd come up with this grand idea to go down and have some… _alone time_ while my parents were at work.”

There's a collective knowing nod and Emma starts giggling uncontrollably.

“So, we're there, getting into it, and all of a sudden there's this massive _boom_. We lived close enough to the space center that whenever there's a launch, it's pretty loud. Well, I'd forgotten to warn Michael of this, so-”

I lose it, giggling as hard as Emma is.

“So he hears this massive sound like a bomb going off and absolutely loses it. Jumps so hard his forehead bangs into my nose. Naturally the thing starts bleeding everywhere, so he takes me home-”

“After he realizes that Russia isn't about to invade or something,” Emma adds, snorting.

“Yes- so, he takes me home and my mum had _just_ gotten back. She starts panicking, and this absolute moron starts on about a fucking _shark_.”

I can't hold it together anymore, the combination of the memory and the alcohol making it seem so much funnier. So, like any good sister, Emma picks up where I've left off.

“So ma is screaming about all the blood Daisy's covered in, Michael's going on about this massive great white, which doesn't even make sense for Florida, and then dad comes home early. He knew right away what had _really_ happened.”

“How?” Roger asks, leaning forward on his knees, fully invested in the story. I cackle, sucking in deep breaths.

“His - oh, god - his _boner_ ,” I manage, tears streaming down my face. Everyone erupts into laughter, even Freddie, though I notice his arm tightening around my shoulders.

“You could've hung a flag on the damn thing,” Emma laughs, hiccuping slightly.

“What'd your dad do?” Roger asks, eyes wide. I manage to gather myself, catching my breath enough to be able to speak.

“He took him inside for the ‘Shotgun Talk’,” I answer, air quoting with my free hand. Roger raises his eyebrow so I elaborate.

“He did it with all of my boyfriends,” I continue, swallowing as I come down from the high of my laughter. “Took them inside, taught them how to clean a 12-gauge shotgun, and told them how much he loved his daughters.”

Roger looks slightly terrified, leaning back again so he's upright.

“He gave me that talk once, y'know.”

I look over at Brian with my eyebrows raised.

“He did?” Emma asks, her eyes going wide. “Why?”

Brian grins, adjusting his arm over Chrissie's shoulder.

“It was right before Daisy moved over here,” he says, and I have a flash of annoyance when I remember the day I told him I was going to be studying abroad. He'd been absolutely livid, telling me I'd be going to his Alma Mater and that was that. It took my mother hours to convince him that I'd be an adult and I could do as I pleased.

“I dunno if he thought I'd try to make my move or what, but it took me forever to convince him I was not planning on trying to seduce you.”

I grimace, giving Brian an apologetic look.

“I'm so sorry, Bri,” I say. He just shrugs, then lifts his chin towards.

“Better me than Freddie,” he chuckles. “He'd probably shit himself if your dad whipped out a shotgun anywhere near him. Not that he'd have any cause to.”

“If what I heard last night is any indication, he would _definitely_ have cause to whip out a shotgun at Freddie,” Emma interjects, drawing ‘ooh's, catcalls, and laughs from everyone present. Everyone but Freddie and I, of course.

“That's no more vodka for _you_ ,” I mutter, looking up to see that Freddie is beet red.

“So,” Veronica says after a minute. “How did you end up with Brian for a Godbrother after all?”

 _God bless Veronica_ , I think, taking a deep breath through my nose.

“Our dads did some work together before my dad joined the team for the space program. They became good friends, and we wound up having to put up with Beanpole here for a month every summer,” I answer.

“Your dad worked on the space program?” John asks enthusiastically, his eyebrows rising. I laugh.

“How d'you think Nerdboy got so interested in the Great Beyond? Dad was an engineer from Mercury to Apollo. He even claimed he arranged for man to land on the moon for my sweet sixteen, even though I know its a lie,” I answer. I can't help the pang of sadness in my chest thinking about it. In ten minutes I'll begin my first birthday without him and it suddenly sobers me.

“‘scuse me,” I manage, swinging my legs off of Freddie's lap and heading towards the bedroom. I manage to get the door closed before I break down, letting the sadness I've refused to feel before now rip its way out.

I'm only in the bedroom a minute before I hear a soft knock on the door and it opens, revealing Brian.

“Oh, Dais, c'mere,” he murmurs, closing the door behind him and sinking down on the bed next to me. He wraps his arms around me and I sob into his chest.

I'm not sure how long I cry, but enough time passes that there's another soft knock and Brian greets whoever is at the door. When they sit on my other side I can tell it's Freddie from the way he brushes the hair off of my neck and leans in to kiss it.

“Come now, love,” he murmurs, rubbing my back. “You can't start your birthday with tears.”

“Yeah,” Brian agrees, leaning back enough that he can look me in the eye. “Besides, Uncle Hank would be cross about you crying on your birthday.”

I sniffle, nodding as I lean back and wipe away my tears.

“I know,” I say softly, reaching down to squeeze Freddie's knee. He laces his fingers with mine and cups my cheek.

“You ready to go back out there?” he asks, smiling when I nod. We all stand, Brian's arm around my shoulder and Freddie's hand still holding mine. I laugh when we make it to the bedroom door and open it to see the lights have all been turned off. Emma and Chrissie are in the middle of the room holding a cake each, and the entire group is singing happy birthday. Freddie joins in, dramatically twirling his free hand in as a conductor would. Brian and I both applaud as they finish, Emma and Chrissie stepping closer so that we can blow out the candles on our respective cakes. From the smell I know mine is strawberry, my favorite.

“What'd you wish for?” Freddie asks me softly, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his chin on my shoulder. I lean my temple against his.

“If I tell you it won't come true,” I murmur, smiling when he turns and presses a kiss to my cheek.

“Well, I hope _all_ of your wishes come true, my love,” he whispers in my ear, nuzzling it with the tip of his nose. I smile, turning my head to press a kiss to his mouth.

“As long as I'm with you, they will,” I whisper back. Our lips press together again for a moment before Emma gags dramatically.

“I'm going to throw up on your cake if you two don't stop sucking face,” she warns, dry heaving again for effect. I flip her off and continue kissing Freddie, leaning our foreheads together.

“Best birthday _ever_ ,” I whisper, and I truly mean it.

* * *

 

**20 July 1974 | Home of Bomi and Jer Bulsara**

“Your parents are going to hate me.”

I look miserably at Freddie. We’re both sporting massive hangovers, but we’d had this tea planned for weeks. When Freddie’s mother found out I wasn’t going to be with my own mother on my birthday, she’d insisted I come over. Freddie had tried to get us out of it, but I’d been the one to insist it would be a nice way to spend my birthday.

“As long as they hate you quietly,” he mutters back, rubbing his temple before ringing the doorbell. I glare sullenly at him as he adjusts his sunglasses, wanting to smack them off of his smug face.

“You’re an asshole,” I manage to get out before there’s shuffling behind the door and it opens. My fears bubble up at the face on the other side, but I don’t have time to consider them before Jer Bulsara is reaching for me, pulling me to her in a hug.

“Daisy, it’s so nice to meet you!” she says in a blessedly soft voice. She hugs me tightly, then holds me back at arms length, a smile on her face.

“It's nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Bulsara,” I answer, my own smile finding its way to my mouth. I move aside as Freddie comes in, kissing his mother's cheek.

“Hi, mama,” he murmurs. She pats his cheek affectionately and greets him before turning and taking my hand.

“Come, tea is ready,” she says, taking my hand and guiding me into the living room. A man who I presume is Freddie’s father comes out of the kitchen with a plate of biscuits, sets them on the table that I can see is loaded with food, and comes over to us.

“Papa,” Freddie greets, giving the man a soft smile. He returns it, reaching up to squeeze Freddie’s shoulder. His warm brown eyes turn to me and he holds out a hand.

“You must be Daisy,” he says, his voice soft like Freddie’s mother’s. I smile, taking it. It’s warm and soft, much like Freddie’s.

“I am. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Bulsara,” I answer. He squeezes my hand gently.

“It’s nice to meet you, too.”

We’re ushered to the table and a girl about my age appears from the back garden. She grins widely, coming over to hug Freddie. When they pull away she nudges him with her elbow.

“Oh, Daisy, this is my sister Kashmira. Kash, this is Daisy.”

I grin at his nervous introduction, getting the impression that he’s more concerned with her thoughts of me than his parents’.

“It’s really nice to meet you,” I say, holding out a hand. She, like her parents, smiles and takes it.

“You, too. Freddie’s told me a lot about you,” she replies. I look to him nervously and she laughs. “All good, don’t worry.”

I manage to laugh myself, then sit in the chair Freddie’s mother offers me. We take a few minutes to get settled in; tea is poured, plates are filled, and I’m asked about myself. Bomi nods approvingly when I tell him I’m studying literature, and Jer reaches over and squeezes my hand when I mention my father. They all nod approvingly when I tell them I’m returning to classes in the fall so that I can graduate.

“A good education is important,” Bomi agrees. “That’s why we sent Freddie to school in India. We wanted him to have a good education.”

I can see Freddie’s jaw tense a little at the comment, but he smiles.

“Freddie told me a little about Zanzibar and India,” I say delicately, looking between Jer and Bomi. “I can’t even imagine what it must have been like to have to leave like that.”

Jer nods softly.

“It was difficult, but we had our children. That’s what matters.”

I find myself reaching over to squeeze Freddie’s hand, a lump forming in my throat. I figure it’s just from exhaustion.

“What is your faith?” Bomi asks suddenly, his gaze hardening a bit. Jer begins to scold her husband for discussing religion at the table but he holds up his hand. “I asked about her _faith_ , which is important.”

Freddie begins to contest now, but I shake my head and squeeze his hand.

“No, Freddie, it’s okay,” I reassure softly before turning to Bomi. “I was raised in a Christian household. My parents raised me to be Methodist, and I was very involved when I was a child. But once I went to university and began exploring my beliefs on my own, I drifted from the church.”

Bomi’s jaw sets and I quickly add, “But _never_ my faith. I love my God, but I don’t think that the church acts in his favor the majority of the time.”

His mouth softens from the hard line it was set in and I’m relieved when he nods approvingly.

“Someone who’s sure of what she believes. I respect that,” he says. I feel my chest swell with a hint of pride and find myself smiling a little, catching Freddie’s gaze from the corner of my eye. He’s smiling, too.

The rest of the meal goes by wonderfully. I tell Jer repeatedly that the food is fantastic, and she insists I come over some time so she can teach me a few of the recipes. I excitedly agree, earning a wink from Jer as she tells me she’ll teach me Freddie’s favorites.

Once we move out into the living room I take a moment to look at the few pictures that are displayed. Their decor is minimal and conservative, the exact opposite of Freddie’s color-soaked flat. I grin at a picture of Freddie at around the age of twelve.

“So handsome,” I muse as he comes up behind me. His cheeks flush and he squeezes my side.

“Oh, hush,” he scolds. I just continue to grin, giving it another look before I let Freddie pull me to the couch. We aren’t sitting for more than a minute or two before Jer brings out the photo albums. Freddie’s quiet as we pour over them, occasionally making a comment or rolling his eyes when I gush over a particularly sweet one.

Finally he’s had enough and he tells his parents we need to get back to the flat so that he can rest before he has to be in the studio the next day. We bid his parents goodbye and Jer makes me promise to call her so I can come over to cook.

Freddie is quiet during the journey back to his flat. He stares out of the window of the bus and it puts an odd feeling in the pit of my stomach, like something’s upset him. In fact, he doesn’t speak at all in the hour it takes us to get back, even when we've gotten into the flat.

Luckily Emma is staying at Brian's while she's here so I don't have to explain anything to her when Freddie heads straight into the bedroom without a word. I silently lock the front door and head back, pushing the half-closed door open. Freddie's sitting on the opposite side of the bed from the door, staring out of the window.

“Love?” I ask softly, approaching him like one would a wounded animal. He doesn't answer, just shifts his gaze to his hands. Then I hear him sniffle.

“Freddie, what's wrong?” I ask, finally making it to his side. I drop to my knees and immediately flash back to that night in Leeds. It feels like decades have passed since then, and it's hard to believe it's only been a few months.

“It's nothing,” Freddie answers, but I lean in and take his hand.

“Was it something I did? Was it the photos?” I ask, thinking that maybe he became self conscious and overwhelmed. The thought turns my stomach sour. But Freddie shakes his head, playing with my fingers.

“No, it's nothing you did,” he confirms, finally looking into my eyes. “They really like you. My parents.”

I smile softly, stomach still leaden at the mystery that's bothering Freddie. It hurts to see that he's so obviously battling something but won't let me in.

“I really like them, too,” I reply. I reach up to cup his cheek and he leans into it.

“I'm tired. Come lay with me?”

Freddie's words are soft and vulnerable and they break me a little. I nod, climbing up onto the bed with him. Neither of us undresses and he curls into my side, taking the position I usually would. He sighs when I run my fingers through his hair.

“You know I'm here for you, Freddie, right? If you want to talk about it?”

I feel Freddie nod but stay silent, nuzzling into my throat as he snuggles closer to me. I continue to pet his hair for a few minutes and think he's fallen asleep when he finally speaks.

“I was alone,” he suddenly murmurs, his arm tightening around my waist. “When they sent me away to school.”

Realization dawns on me as I remember him telling me about St. Peter's in India. He was vague when he spoke about it, so I didn't think anything of it. And then it was brought up earlier, obviously stirring up old memories.

“How old were you?” I ask, pressing my mouth to the crown of his head. He lifts the hand around my waist to trace soft patterns against the exposed part of my sternum.

“Eight.”

I feel an immense wash of sadness, imagining that sweet boy in those photos being sent off alone.

“Did you get to see them on holidays?”

“Sometimes. Not very often. I usually stayed with one of my aunts in India instead of going back to Zanzibar.”

I feel my eyes begin to fill with tears at the thought of Freddie all alone, not able to go home to his family. As he sniffles I realize that this must be the reason he hates to be alone, always wanting some sort of physical touch. As if he can read my mind he snuggles closer, pressing kisses to my throat as I wrap my arms tighter around him.

“That must have been so hard, sweetheart,” I murmur, feeling love for him overwhelm me. He nods, hugging me closer.

Neither of us says anything else, we just hold each other. Eventually his breathing slows and I know he’s asleep, so I finally let myself drift off.

* * *

 

**29 July 1974 | Trident Studios | London**

Trident Studios is absolutely nothing like I expect. When Freddie asked me to come into the studio today, I'd been thrilled. I'd asked why and he just said he had something he wants me to listen to that he’d recorded when they were at Rockfield earlier in the month. So I promised him that I would come as soon as I was finished registering for my final semester at Royal Holloway, where I'd decided to transfer to.

Now, as I stand in front of a completely nondescript building in the middle of Soho, I wonder how this could possibly be a recording studio at all, let alone a recording studio frequented by the Beatles, Bowie, and Elton John.

I'm checking the address Freddie had scrawled on a scrap of paper for at least the seventh time when I suddenly hear my name in a familiar voice. I look up at see Roger grinning at me from the doorway, unlit cigarette in hand.

“Daisy, you made it!”

As relief washes over me I grin back, practically skipping over to him.

“Hi Roggie! Thank God you came out, I thought Freddie gave me the wrong address,” I say, wrapping an arm around Roger's waist as he guides me into the building.

My eyes adjust as he weaves us through the maze of halls, and after a minute or so I hear familiar voices.

“Look what I found hanging about outside,” Roger announces, letting go of my waist and walking over to a desk chair.

“What have we told you about bringing in the riff raff, Rog?” Brian quips, laughing when I flip him off. I glance behind the glass into the recording room and grin when I see Freddie. He has yet to notice me, completely absorbed in whatever he’s writing. Deacy pokes his head out and waves before turning to Freddie.

“Oye, you have a visitor.”

Freddie looks annoyed until he spots me, and then he breaks into a wide grin.

“Daisy, darling, you’re here!”

He runs out to me, picking me up and twirling me around. I laugh, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. I’ve made sure to be much more openly affectionate with him since his small breakdown last weekend. He’d elaborated after we napped, telling me that, while his parents were never unloving, they weren’t overly affectionate, either. They’d come to be over time, but when Freddie was a child he’d spent more time at home with his nanny than Jer and Bomi.

As a result, I’d inferred, Freddie had become starved for that touch. As his girlfriend, I feel it’s my place to give it to him, so I made him promise not to be shy about cuddles. He’s become almost catlike in the week and a half since, tilting his head towards me when I pass the back of the sofa because he wants me to run my fingers through his hair, coming up behind me and pressing his face into my neck, wanting to be the little spoon in bed just as much as the big spoon. And I’m more than willing to oblige, loving the touch just as much as he does.

“I have something for you to listen to!” he exclaims as he sets me down, taking my hand and dragging me over to the soundboard. There’s a tech sitting there who nods to me.

“Here, put these on.”

I take the headphones that he’s holding out to me, unable to stop the grin on my face at his excitement.

“Now, I need you to think hard while you listen and you’ll know what it’s about,” he says mysteriously and I knit my eyebrows, nodding.

“Alright,” I answer, shaking my head as I put the headphones on. Freddie nods to the tech shortly before I hear the crackle of the tape rolling. I look down at the soundboard, doing my best to concentrate as Freddie asked. It’s difficult when he’s sitting close enough that our knees are pressed together.

Then it starts, rhythmic snapping a few seconds before Freddie’s voice:

 _She keeps a Moët et Chandon in her pretty cabinet_ ; _'Let them eat cake' she says_ _,_ _just like Marie Antoinette;_ _A built-in remedy for Khrushchev and Kennedy;_ _At anytime an invitation, you can't decline;_ _Caviar and cigarettes, well versed in etiquette; Extraordinarily nice_ …

I find myself grinning madly up at Freddie, my chest filling with excitement that borders on mania. I listen to the rest of the song, catching the little nods to me in the lyrics. By the time it’s finished my face hurts from smiling so much.

“Do you like it?” Freddie asks, his nerves not quite masked by the excitement in his voice. He seems to sag in relief when I nod.

“I _love_ it, Freddie,” I breathe, surging forward to hug him. He presses a kiss to my mouth as I lean away.

“So, what’s it called?” I ask.

“ _Killer Queen_ ,” Freddie answers, taking the headphones from me and setting them on the soundboard. “You’re not at all insulted by it? Tell me the truth, darling.”

But I shake my head, giggling.

“I _love_ it, Freddie,” I repeat, reaching up to cup his cheeks. I kiss him again, slower this time, and when I pull back he’s grinning.

“We have to add more to it, so it may sound a bit different when it’s finally on the album, but I’m glad that you _love_ it,” he says quickly, then stands. I move to do the same but he shakes his head, pointing down.

“You stay there. You’re going to watch us work,” he instructs sternly. I grin up at him.

“Alright. I’ll watch you work. And then tonight you can watch _me_ work,” I tease, drawing a cat call from Roger and a whistle from Deacy. Brian, who’s on his way back into the recording booth stops suddenly, turning to look at Freddie.

“Wait, you wrote that song about _Daisy_?” he asks loudly. I grin over at him, nodding.

“Yes, Brian, get with the times,” Freddie snaps before marching past Brian. Brian just stares at me for a moment and I grin at him, knowing what he’s thinking.

“No, I am _never_ telling you the story. Now, get to work,” I say, turning back to the soundboard.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long, guys! The second half of this semester has kicked my ass and I'm so mentally fried. But I'm graduating in two and a half weeks, so yay! 
> 
> There are a couple of warnings for this chapter. First, it's mostly sex. Like... sex, followed by sex, and then some more sex. You remember how Daisy said if they got the AU BoRhap right it would be mostly sexual exploits? Well, she wasn't lying. Also, there are some intense descriptions of Brian's illness in the summer of 1974. I tried not to go into too much detail (mainly because I hate that he suffered so much that summer), but if that will trigger you, please don't read the last section. Skip to the asterisk (*) towards the bottom.
> 
> Finally, I'm still looking for questions for the characters for my in-between oneshot! Any questions for Daisy, the band, and any events (mentioned in detail or not) for the 1970s. Send 'em in!!
> 
> Love you guys lots!

 

**4 September 1974 | Johnny Dewe Mathews’ Studio | Primrose Hill, London**

 

“ _ Damn _ .”

My eyes go wide when they fall on Freddie, roaming up and down his body. Roger quickly opens his eyes, looking around slightly panicked before he realizes that it wasn’t directed at him. Freddie, who’s wearing a pair of tight leather pants and a Superman shirt, blushes slightly as he grins sheepishly at me.

“Ah, yes. We all know that you think Freddie is hot and all you want to do is shag, blah blah blah. Now, will you stop staring at his crotch and finish me?” Roger whines, glaring up at me. I take the large powder brush in my hand and flick it at him, sending a cloud of Coty Air Spun right into his face. He coughs, waving his hands around.

“You’re done, wanker,” I shoot back, beckoning Freddie over with a single finger. I catch Johnny’s eye, grinning at him.

“Not too much makeup, right?” I ask, nodding towards Roger. Johnny had requested very light makeup for this shoot, and so I’d forgone anything but skincare for them. He nods approvingly, then goes back to fitting his camera with a different lens.

As Freddie sinks down into the chair in front of me I reach for his foundation, still feeling giddy over what today means.

The band had finished recording their next album, which they’d named  _ Sheer Heart Attack _ . I’d spent countless days in the studio with them, occasionally listening to portions of tracks or mediating between bickering bandmates. But mostly I was there for emotional support. Between making sure Brian didn’t over exert himself and Freddie didn’t fly into one of his moods too many times, I’d become the house therapist in addition to their unofficial official makeup artist.

The frustrations in the studio were exacerbated by a second trip to hospital for Brian, this time with a severe stomach ulcer. He’d been rushed into surgery early one afternoon when he’d collapsed in the studio. His parents had joined us in the waiting room, along with Chrissie. Once Brian was out of the woods we’d all nearly collapsed ourselves, both from relief and exhaustion.

But the band was able to finish the album and, on top of that, had reached silver status in sales of  _ Queen II _ . Tomorrow they’ll be awarded with their silver albums, a major event at the Cafe Royal here in London, which will also be the band’s first public appearance since May.

“So, you like the trousers?” Freddie asks mischievously, smirking slightly as I begin to dab a light layer of foundation on his face. I grin down at him, biting my lip. Oh, the things I would say if we weren’t with the band. I’d just have to settle for punishing him later. The thought kindles a fire in my belly, and I can feel my cheeks beginning to burn.

From a sexual standpoint, our relationship has absolutely bloomed. We'd agreed to explore my dominant and Freddie's submissive side a bit more. It had revealed quite a few new kinks to both of us, and, as a result, we were practically insatiable. Just this morning we'd had each other twice. 

“I do,” I confirm, smoothing out his foundation with a brush. His eyes track me as I paint over the bridge of his nose, a smirk playing on his lips that I pointedly ignore. The fire in my belly burns a bit hotter when I notice a small purple bruise I’d sucked under the left side of his jaw as I blend the foundation down his neck. He seems to catch on to the tightening of my thighs, especially when I dab a bit of concealer over it before doing the same under his eyes.

I’m blending it in with my fingers when I feel Freddie’s hand begin sliding under my skirt. I give him a stern look, raising my eyebrow at him, but he just smirks and continues to dance his fingertips up the inside of my thigh. I glance around to see that no one else is really paying attention to us; Veronica and John are fussing over what he should wear, Roger and Brian are talking with their heads close together, and Johnny is busy setting up the studio. 

When my eyes turn back to Freddie’s he pauses, his fingers flexing just a few centimeters away from my damp panties. He seems to be silently asking permission. Knowing that it gives me an excuse to punish him later, I give an almost imperceptible nod. He understands, though, and his fingers resume their ascension. 

I have to bite the inside of my cheek at the first press of Freddie's fingertip against my clit. He slides his finger back as I lean forward, pretending to cover a blemish, wiggling my hips a bit to trap his hand between my thighs. His finger flexes and I clench, wanting him to just shove my panties out of the way and finger me until I come. 

But he can't do more than tease me until we get home, a fact that makes it even more frustrating that the photo shoot hasn't even begun yet. As if he's reading my mind, he simply runs his finger along the seam of my lips, keeping the pressure light. At this rate, I’ll be soaked through them in a minute or so.

Freddie’s fingers keep up their teasing as I finish his makeup, somehow managing to stay between my legs even as I turn back and forth between the small makeup table. I can feel his palm flatten against the inside of my thigh as I finish up with his powder, and I can feel his finger is slightly damp. When I look into his eyes they’re dark and slightly hooded with want. 

 

“Done,” I manage in a soft voice, his fingers squeezing one more time before he pulls them away. I nearly moan when he surreptitiously lifts his fingers to his mouth and his tongue darts out to taste one. 

Oh, yes. Freddie is in for a  _ severe  _ punishment tonight.

* * *

 

Freddie looks beautiful like this: chest heaving, cheeks flushed pink, hair a mess, sweat making his body glisten. He’s sprawled against the pink satin sheets on his bed, hands gripping the headboard and a foot pointed towards either bottom corner of the mattress. His cock is flushed even deeper than his face, and oozing precome into the tangle of hair on his belly. The final touch for this living erotic artwork is the steady stream of filth falling from his lips. Mostly incoherent moans and pleas for release, Freddie’s mouth has been going non-stop since his punishment began.

“You only did this to yourself,” I say, biting my lip as I quickly swipe one finger up the base of his cock, feather light. It twitches, hard, and I nearly groan. 

I’d been teasing him to this point for nearly an hour, all of his teasing at the studio resulting in the irresistible need to make him know what it’s like to be teased when you can’t to anything about it. So far I’ve made him strip for me, then work himself to full hardness before laying on the bed, where I’ve been teasing him with touch. It had started out slow, a single touch here or there, always stopping as soon as his hips began thrusting up into my fist. Now his cock is shiny with lube, almost purple at the tip, and radiating with heat.

Freddie glares petulantly at me, his jaw set. I gently pinch the inside of his thigh as I raise an eyebrow at him.

“Don’t look at me like that or you won’t be coming at all tonight,” I warn, watching him force the glare from his face.

“That’s better. Now…” 

I walk around to kneel at the edge of the bed, cupping Freddie’s cheek gently. 

“You’re going to use that beautiful mouth on me, and I’m going to come. If you do a good job, you’ll get to come after that,” I say. Freddie nods once, licking his lips.

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmurs, the slight whine in his voice making my cunt clench in anticipation. Freddie’s eyes light up as I move to straddle his chest, his fingers flexing where they’re gripping the edges of the headboard. 

“Do you want to touch me, darling?” I ask, reaching down to sweep my thumb over his chin. He nods enthusiastically, bringing a smile to my face. “Alright, love. You can touch me.”

His hands practically fly to my hips, thumbs pressing into the dips of them as I position myself over his mouth.

The moment his tongue slips into my folds I find it difficult to keep from losing control and chasing my release. Freddie seems to sense as much because he pulls me against him further, fingers on my hips squeezing hard enough to bruise. 

“So good, baby,” I moan, threading one hand in the hair at his crown and gripping the headboard for balance with the other. I begin to grind against his face, moaning and gasping freely as I continue to chase my orgasm. Freddie’s long fingers knead at my hips, his own moans and grunts spurring me on.

I don’t have time to warn Freddie when I come. It’s hard, tightening all of the muscles in my abdomen as my mouth drops open in a silent scream. My hips gyrate against Freddie’s face as he sucks my clit, fingers digging into my hips hard enough to bruise. It takes me longer than usual to come down from my high, but I somehow manage to swing my leg around and all but collapse on the other side of the bed, my head near his feet. My chest heaves as I feel Freddie sit up.

“Holy  _ fuck _ ,” he pants, sitting up to look at me. I crack open an eye, grinning tiredly at him. 

“You get  _ all _ the credit for that one,” I breathe. I catch sight of Freddie’s flushed cock, and have to force back a grimace. He’s so hard that the head is almost purple, and it’s practically pulsing where it’s jutted up between his legs. 

“C’mere, baby boy,” I murmur, motioning for him to mirror the position I was in earlier. He does so, his hands moving to brush my hair back off of my face and neck. I gently run my palms up and down his thigh, looking from the cock that’s bobbing inches away from my face up into his eyes. “You did such a good job, sweet boy, you can come now.”

My tongue barely touches the tip of Freddie’s cock before he’s coming, just as hard as I did. He cries out, his hand flying to the shaft to coax himself through it. I lean back, closing my eyes as the first ropes of come hit my cheek. My mouth falls open as he continues to jerk himself, letting out breathy, whining moans. When he finally stops coming he peers down at me through hooded eyes, breathing heavily. 

My next move is done without thinking; I swipe my thumb through a rope of come that’s on my jaw, then gently lift it to his mouth. Freddie parts his lips obediently, his tongue darting out to lick my thumb clean. He moans, his eyes fluttering as he suckles it. Then he gently shuffles down my body so that he’s laying over me. He nuzzles his nose against mine, then leans in to lick the rest of my jaw clean.

“Let’s go shower and then go to bed, lovely,” he whispers, kissing my cheek before pressing his nose into it. I nod, then turn my head and catch him in a proper kiss before pulling away. 

“I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

**5 September 1974 | Freddie’s Flat**

 

The morning of Freddie’s birthday dawns bright and sunny. It’s warm when I wake up, Freddie sprawled on the other side of the bed on his back. I smile softly when I feel that his leg is stretched out so that his knee is touching mine, seeking contact even in his sleep. I simply lay there, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, thinking about today. In just a few hours we’ll be heading to the Cafe Royale, where the band will be receiving an award for reaching a Silver status with their  _ Queen II _ sales. And then, afterwards, a second celebration.

It was Brian’s plan, really, mentioned more in passing - a surprise party for Freddie. It wouldn’t be anything huge, just the band and their significant others, plus a few of Freddie’s friends. My role was simple: Get Freddie out of the flat on time for the reception at the Cafe Royale so that Chrissie and Veronica can sneak in to decorate. I’d already spoken with Freddie’s landlady, and she’d agreed to let them in as long as I promised that the party wouldn’t get too rowdy. 

I’m pondering waking Freddie up with a birthday blowie when a young calico jumps up onto the bed, pawing gently at Freddie’s face. Tom, as we affectionately called him, had only been a few weeks old when Freddie had found him outside of Trident studios. He’d tucked him into his jacket and brought him home. We’d worried over him all night, especially Freddie, then rushed to the veterinarian the next morning. After a thorough check-up and vaccinations, we’d been reassured that he would be alright. The vet even gave us a break on the bill, commenting that he’d never seen anyone love on a brand new kitten as much as Freddie was. 

Although perhaps now, as Tom yowls loudly in Freddie’s face, he’s not going to be as affectionate.

“Stop it!” I hiss, sitting up and grabbing Tom. Freddie rolls onto his side, groaning as I lift Tom into my chest, cradling him like a baby.

“You are such a jerk, do you know that?” I say, kissing the cat quickly before he wriggles out of my grasp. He jumps off of the bed and trots to the door, turning back and howling loudly again. 

“I think the baby is hungry,” Freddie murmurs, snuggling his pillow as he looks up at me with hooded eyes. I can’t help but glance at the love bites on his neck and chest, heat pooling in my belly when I remember how eagerly we brought in Freddie’s birthday. 

“Well, let me go feed him and then I’ll give you your first birthday gift,” I reply. Freddie purses his lips for a kiss and I oblige, making it quick so that he doesn’t get too carried away. There will be time for that after I feed-

“Tom! Stop screaming like you’re dying!” I scold as the cat starts howling again, pacing back and forth in the doorway. I climb out of bed, grabbing a robe and shrugging it on before following the persistent cat out to the kitchen. Sure enough, he begins circling his bowl, chirping happily as I reach for the container of kitten food.

“You’re a nuisance,” I say affectionately, running my hand down the cat’s back when I’m done filling his bowl. As Tom eats I return the container to its place in the cabinet before returning to the bedroom. 

The sight I find makes me pause in the doorway, a happy warmth filling my chest. Freddie’s turned more onto his stomach than his side, pillow tucked under his chest and cheek. The sheet is pooled around his waist, one leg peeking out from beneath it. The pink satin compliments Freddie’s skin perfectly and I can’t help but bite my lip as I imagine straddling his hips.

“Are you going to just stand there all morning?” 

Freddie’s words break me from my stupor and I take a step into the room, untying the robe. Freddie turns back onto his back, his eyes roaming my body as I make my way back over to the bed.

“Is it time for my first birthday gift?” he asks suggestively, reaching out for me as I make it to the side of the bed. I nod, letting him pull me so that I’m straddling him. His half-hard cock is nestled in my folds and I can’t help but grind against him as I lean down to capture his lips. We moan into each other’s mouths as the kiss grows wet and sloppy, my hips picking up their pace. I can feel myself growing closer to the edge but I hold back, pulling away. Freddie starts to protest but I shake my head.

“The birthday boy gets to come first,” I say, leaning down to bite Freddie’s lower lip. He moans softly, his cock twitching. I pull back, reaching up to trace the bridge of his nose with my fingertip. “How do you want to come, birthday boy?”

I watch Freddie’s cheeks flush and reach down to trace his bottom lip.

“Can you… can you do the thing you did the other night?”

My heart pounds in my chest as I recall last weekend, knowing exactly what he’s referring to. But I want to hear him say it out loud. 

“Tell me what you want, sweet boy. Use that pretty tongue, use your words,” I urge gently, pressing kisses to the underside of Freddie’s jaw. I know that he’s shy about telling me how he wants to be pleasured, so I don’t force him to make eye contact. I feel his hands tighten on my hips.

“I… I want you to wank me off… while you - ah - while you play with my asshole…”

The words come slowly, whispered, broken with moans, but they’re unbelievably hot. I have to close my eyes and take a deep breath through my nose to keep from tipping over the edge just from his words.

“Okay, birthday boy,” I answer, leaning over to kiss him one last time before I begin kissing a trail down his chest. I can feel the muscles of his abdomen contracting with his excitement. I gently tug on the hairs under his bellybutton with my teeth before descending lower, kissing my way down his happy trail. His hips jump slightly when I press a wet kiss to the base of his cock. 

“Lift your legs, baby,” I say, finally settling on my stomach between his legs. He lifts one over my shoulder as I lick a long stripe up the bottom of his cock. He moans softly as I swirl my tongue around the tip. 

I let saliva pool in my mouth before I pull away a bit, sucking my own finger into my mouth and making sure it's nice and slick before dipping it between Freddie's cheeks. I suck his cock back into my mouth as my fingertip presses against the tight ring of muscle. 

“Oh, fuck,” he whines, his hands tangling in my hair as I sink down further on his cock. I rub soft circles against his asshole and, once I feel him relax, gently push a finger in. 

He moans incoherently as I begin to pump my finger in and out, working his cock with my mouth. I curl my finger a bit, looking for the spot that makes him-

“Oh, fuck,” he whines again, back arching and knuckles going white in the sheets as I press down on his prostate. He cries out as I rub my finger against it, then manages to unclench his fist from the sheets long enough to grasp my arm.

“Need to be inside you,” he pants, looking down at me with an almost pained expression. I slowly pull my finger out of him, letting his cock fall from my mouth as I crawl up his body. I position myself so that I’m straddling his hips and reach down to position him at my entrance. As I sink down we both moan, holding eye contact until our hips are flush. 

“You’re so pretty, my love,” I pant, beginning to grind down on him. His cheeks flush but he pouts, reaching up for me. 

“Come here,” he requests softly, his long fingers cupping the side of my neck. I let him pull me down into a kiss, my arms coming to rest on the pillow on either side of his head. He kisses me passionately, in a way that would be over the top if it wasn’t Freddie. I moan into the kiss as the change in angle presses the head of his cock against my g-spot. My hips speed up, rocking against Freddie quickly and deeply, chasing my impending orgasm. 

I’m finally pushed over the edge when Freddie’s hips start moving against mine, the thick patch of hair at the base of his cock rubbing deliciously against my clit. I gasp when the waves wash over me, pulling away to tuck my face into Freddie’s throat. I can feel him shift and then he’s doing all of the work, thrusting up into my cunt as it clenches around him, slicking him so that the slide is almost too wet. It doesn’t take long for his hips to begin to lose their rhythm, and he finally comes with a soft “oh” as I suck one of last night’s marks a deeper purple. As his hips slow to a stop he wraps his arms tightly around me, holding me to him.

“I love you,” he whispers, pressing his lips to my forehead. I turn my face to look up at him. 

“You missed,” I murmur, pursing my lips. He giggles but leans in again, kissing my mouth this time. When we pull away he squeezes my waist. 

“I love you, too,” I reply. He hums contentedly and his fingers begin brushing up and down my spine. 

“Let's go take a bath,” he says, nosing along my hairline. I hum an affirmative as I push myself up off of him.

“That means it's time for your next birthday gift,” I say, shooting a grin over my shoulder. 

“Oh, are you going to give me a handjob in the bath, then?” he teases, wiggling his eyebrows as he sits up and watches me dig through the wardrobe. I find the bag I'm looking for and straighten the tissue paper before bringing it over to Freddie. He shifts forward excitedly, making grabby hands. 

“Oh, gifts, I love gifts,” he coos, drawing a laugh from me. I watch as he excitedly tosses the tissue paper away, digging the two bottles I'd buried in the bag out. 

“Bubble bath!”

He beams up at me before unscrewing the cap on one and smelling it. I'd gone for a lavender one for his anxiety and rose because it just seemed  _ him _ . 

“Let's use this one,” he says, holding up the bottle of pale pink rose-scented bubble bath and climbing out of bed. He snakes an arm around my waist when he reaches me and presses a gentle kiss to my nose. 

“Thank you, my love,” he says softly, as if I'd hung the moon just for him. But, as I was quickly learning with Freddie, it's the amount of love that's put into something more than the quality or quantity of the thing that counts. 

“You are very welcome, sweetheart,” I reply, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and giving him a proper kiss. He nuzzles my nose for a moment and then pulls me towards the bathroom. 

We both putter around as the tub fills, brushing our teeth and washing our faces. I get out fresh towels and rest them on the closed toilet while Freddie turns off the water. He climbs into the bath and holds out a hand for me. I settle carefully between his legs, leaning back against his chest. 

We spend almost an hour in the bath, bathing each other and talking. It’s time that I value greatly; I won’t be going on the first leg of the  _ Sheer Heart Attack _ tour with them as I’m in classes until December, which means that when they leave at the end of October I won’t see them until December, save for a few days in November when they’ll be playing here in London. 

So for now Freddie and I soak each other in, stealing kisses and squeezes and pets, exchanging ‘I love yous’ ad nauseum. We dress in the outfits we’d chosen yesterday morning; me in a yellow summer dress and the jacket that Roger had worn for yesterday’s photo shoot, Freddie in an almost all-white ensemble. As Freddie turns to me once he’s fully dress, I find myself snorting.

“Aren’t those a little… uh,  _ tight _ ?”

Freddie looks down at his pants, then back up at me and he shrugs.

“No, I don’t think so,” he responds, fastening the last of his buttons and checking himself in the full length mirror. I just raise my eyebrows at him.

“Whatever you do, please just  _ don’t _ get a boner, babe,” I giggle, my eyes drawn to the prominent bulge between his legs. 

“What if I want to make everyone there jealous of you?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. I only roll mine, grinning at him.

“You're such a slut,” I joke, coming up and wrapping my arms around his waist. I lean up to press a kiss to his lips, trying not to moan as he gently squeezes my ass. He pulls away, wiggling his hips gently against mine.

“But I’m  _ your _ slut.”

* * *

It turns out the presentation of the Silver album is much more of a do than I initially anticipated. After the band is given their beautifully framed albums, they’re whisked off to have some photos taken with Jeannette Charles,  _ the  _ Queen’s lookalike. I take the opportunity to sneak away and find a glass of wine and a good spot to sit. There’s a loveseat against one of the walls of the room where the reception is being held, and I’m able to quickly claim it. 

I spend the next twenty or so minutes watching the room, sipping at my drink. Freddie is floating around, talking to the few reporters who were invited. John and Roger are off in a corner doing the same. I realize I haven’t seen Brian in a little while, and panic starts to set in. My mind flashes back over the past five months, my heart pounding in my chest as my eyes dart around the room. 

I’m about to abandon my seat to start looking for him when I suddenly spot a mess of curly brown hair. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding just as Brian turns his head, meeting my eye. He gives me a half smile and I notice that he’s finally beginning to look somewhat healthy again. 

I continue to watch him as he’s approached by one of the label executives and find a lump forming in my throat as I think back to everything he’s been through since May. I feel anger wash over me when I see Norman Sheffeild join in on the conversation. My hand tightens around my glass and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from walking over to him and slapping him.

See, it’s Norman that I (and the rest of the band) blame for Brian falling ill a second time. I swallow hard, tears springing to my eyes when I remember that first day I’d gone to see Brian. 

It was half past two when I’d arrived, but Brian’s bed was empty when I arrived. I’d gone into a panic, breaking into a run to ask the nurses where he was. They’d assured me that he was only upstairs for some tests, that he’d be back in a little while and I could wait in his room. I’d done just that, and it felt like hours before he was wheeled back into the room. I helped the nurse get him back into bed, and I could tell immediately that something was very wrong. He was nursing his right arm, and I could see that it was swollen. There was a bandage peeking out from under his sleeve and I’d asked him about it.

_ Gangrene, _ he’d said, his voice deep and monotone. Bile rose in my throat, my eyes going wide as he stared at his feet. 

_ Doctor says I’ll have to have surgery. Might still lose it, though. _

I hadn’t been able to speak for a moment, my hands balling into fists hard enough that I could feel my nails digging into my palms. If Brian lost his arm… even now, the thought makes me feel physically ill. I’d been trying to think of something to say when Brian let out a choked sob, his left hand covering his face. I had no idea what to do, so I did the only thing I could think of: I held him. It was awkward, cradling his head against my chest as he sobbed into it, but I didn’t care. This was Brian,  _ my _ Brian. 

The one who helped me learn how to walk. 

The one who built sandcastles with me during the summers, sitting in the surf until we were brown and freckled. 

The one who tried to teach me to play guitar, guiding my small fingers along the neck of the Old Lady, helping me when they couldn’t reach. 

The one who loved me and protected me and didn’t deserve any of this.

So I held him until he’d cried himself hoarse, then I’d sat with him until the doctor came to tell him that they were going to perform the surgery first thing the next morning. 

I didn’t sleep that night, choosing to spend the night in Brian’s flat instead of Freddie’s. Freddie, of course, insisted that I not spend the night alone and so he and Roger joined me, the three of us sitting up in Brian’s bed keeping a silent vigil. 

The surgery, however, proved to be a massive success. The infection from the needle hadn’t killed as much tissue as they initially feared, and Brian was blessidly able to keep his arm. 

The battle wasn’t over, though. Brian still had a long road ahead of him, even after he’d gotten home. Which is where the asshole currently talking and laughing with Brian comes in. Brian, who was on bed rest, had been instructed to come into the studio a mere two weeks after leaving the hospital. I hadn’t been aware of just how much stress this was putting on Brian until I saw it myself; the same day that I’d gone in to hear  _ Killer Queen _ for the first time, I’d walked in on Brian nursing his arm and grimacing. I’d asked why he wasn’t at home if he wasn’t well enough, and he’d said that Norman had threatened to end the band’s contract if they didn’t get another album out by October.

That, of course, set me off on a tirade. I’d taken off down the hall, ready to confront Norman about the complete bullshit he was putting Brian (and the rest of the band for that matter) through. Luckily Roger was there to hold me back, all but throwing me over his shoulder to get me into a closet to calm down. 

Only a week later Brian’s illness came to a second head, the stress causing a stomach ulcer, which began bleeding and caused a second collapse. After yet another surgery, this time to save his life and not just his arm, the band had finally had enough and told Norman in no uncertain terms to fuck off until Brian was well enough to record. 

*Now, as I watch Brian give Norman a tight-lipped smile and make his way towards me, I want nothing more than to throw my arms around his neck and tell him that I love him. Seeing as we’re in a public place, however, I settle for scooting over and patting the empty cushion next to me.

“Sit, love,” I offer, reaching out to rub his wrist gently when he does so.

“You enjoying yourself?” he asks, sliding his hand down so that he can close his long fingers around mine. I shrug, squeezing his hand.

“The view could be better,” I answer grimly, glaring in Norman’s direction. Brian grimaces, nodding.

“I agree,” he says, raiding the glass of water in his hand to his lips. He takes a long pull and then nudges my shoulder.

“Thanks for putting up with me the past few months.”

The words are almost a whisper and I look at Brian, taken aback.

“Putting up with you?” I ask, sadness filling my chest. “Brian, I didn’t  _ put up _ with you. I love you and I’d do anything for you. I only wish that you didn’t have to go through any of that,” I answer, my voice catching. He tugs his hand out of mine and wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side.

“What’d I do to deserve you?” he asks, his lips pressed into my hairline. I shrug, closing my eyes as he presses a kiss to my forehead.

“You put up with an annoying kid for ten summers,” I reply. Brian chuckles against my skin, then presses his cheek to my forehead. We stay like that for a moment, hugging each other tightly. He smells of cologne and soap, and I close my eyes, suddenly overwhelmed. He’s here, he’s whole, and he’s  _ alive _ . 

“Alright, Dais. What d’you say we get Freddie to his surprise party, huh?” Brian suddenly says, his voice thick with emotion. He leans back and looks at me, raising an eyebrow. I gently nod, sniffling.

“Yeah. We could all do with a good party right about now,” I agree, downing the rest of my wine before shooting Norman one last glare. 

“Especially one without  _ that  _ cunt.”

The laugh that Brian lets out is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard, and as he pulls me onto my feet, I can’t help but give him another hug and thank whatever god is listening that he’s in my life.


	12. Author's Note

Hi loves! So I wanted to check in with y'all since I've sort of fallen off the face of the planet. I'm still planning on finishing this series, but I honestly don't know when that will be. I've gone through a lot recently. I started certification training for my job, which has been mentally exhausting, and I've been having some health issues that I need to be properly diagnosed to start treatment. On top of all that, I lost my 17 year old kitty a few weeks ago and it's been really tough. She was deeply loved by my family and I, so I haven't entirely been in the mood to write. Hopefully I'll be back at it soon, especially since I'll be seeing Queen + AL in August. That should give me some inspiration. I hope all of you lovelies are doing well. See you soon!


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